


Dress Up In Dreams

by Flantastic



Series: Devotion [3]
Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury, Physical Disability, Protective James Bond, Q is a badass, SO MUCH FLUFF, Schmoop, So much angst, Torture, Wheelchairs, disabled AU, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Q's lives are turned upside-down when a kidnap plot sees them both taken, hundreds of miles apart.  For Q it's a battle of wits and survival.  For James, it's as much a fight against his own demons as the people who take him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the third part of the "Devotion" series.
> 
> Despite posting in chapters I've decided to fully tag this one from the start. There is violence, severe sexual threat and menace towards a disabled character in later chapters. If you liked the schmoop of the last two parts, there will be schmoop aplenty but please be warned. 
> 
> This fic is 95% complete and I'm aiming to update on a weekly basis or there abouts.
> 
> As before, I've nicked the title from a Foo Fighters song ('Stacked Actors' this time) because Mr Grohl seems to be better at stringing together words than what I am.

James wasn’t sure what woke him at first.  He went from fast asleep to wide awake in a heartbeat, tensing and ready to strike.  He quickly realised he was at home and in his own bed.  He relaxed, ready to drift back off to sleep before feeling Q shift next to him.  A whined, almost silent breath alerted him to the fact that his husband wasn’t happy.

“Tom?”

Q sighed and groped for James, finding and patting his hip.

“Sorry Darling.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  Go back to sleep.” He whispered.

James slipped his arm around Q and nuzzled into the side of his neck.

“Are you OK?”

Q sighed again.

“Cramp.” He grumbled. “It’s been coming and going for over an hour now.”

James leaned over and flicked the light switch on his side of the bed.  They both squinted in the low light from the bedside lamp.

“Show me.”

Q indicated his left thigh and James sat up, feeling along his skin until he found where the muscles were bunching.  He began to gently press his fingers into the knots.  As long as James had known Q he’d suffered from cramping, especially at night.  It was a side-effect of the injuries he’d sustained as a teenager.

“You should have woken me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to wake you at all.  You have to get up to catch your flight in three hours.”

James looked at the clock.  It was two-thirty A.M. He was due to catch the seven-twenty flight to Düsseldorf and wanted to be at Heathrow in plenty of time.  Since retiring from being an active Double 0 agent he was in demand as a security consultant.   Still working for MI6, he advised and liaised with their allies around the globe.  This week it was the turn of the German Federal Intelligence Service.

“I can sleep on the plane.” he admonished Q gently as he eased his leg up until his knee rested over James’s shoulder.  His fingers still worked the slowly loosening muscles.  He watched as Q’s eyes fluttered shut; the crease of discomfort evident between his eyebrows.

“The flight time is only just over an hour… there’s not enough time for you to sleep.”

James huffed and nuzzled into the leg next to his cheek, kissing the side of Q’s knee tenderly.

“I’m quite adept at functioning on little sleep my love…”

Q shuddered as the muscles in his thigh re-tensed.  James placed another kiss on the same spot and continued his massage.

“You shouldn’t have to…”

James watched as the tension slowly bled out of Q’s face again.

“Perhaps not but I want to.  I would rather be awake and helping you feel better than sleeping while you suffered.”

Q’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“What would the FIS say if they knew we were sending them England’s biggest softy?” He teased.

James shuffled forward until his knees bracketed Q’s hips.

“I’d never live it down…”

He watched Q’s face intently as he kneaded.  The muscles had relaxed again now but he continued to smooth them, warming the skin beneath his hands.  His husband was beautiful in a strangely adolescent kind of way.  He’d thought so from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on him in the British Museum.  His thick dark riotous hair looked like it belonged to a cherub in an old masterpiece, one of Ruben’s perhaps.  He was usually as pale as could be but his skin currently looked golden, even in the low light of the bedside lamp.  The tan was a legacy of the two week holiday they’d recently had in the South of France.  They’d spent the long sunny days together alone; doing little more than eating, sleeping and making love.  He smiled as he remembered the hours they’d spent in the pool.  Q loved the sensation of being able to stand supported by the buoyancy of the water.  He’d sling his arms around James’s neck as they kissed, their naked bodies pressed together deliciously.

It had never bothered James that Q used a wheelchair.  He’d seen enough active service to realise that injures and imperfections were a fact of life.  He’d even endured his own share of pain and disablement from time to time.  His had always been temporary however and it amazed him the way that Q had adapted to and accepted his own.  James didn’t doubt that he’d had a hand in that acceptance.  The man he’d first met six years before had been angry, fighting his limitations on a daily basis.  He’d intrigued James, drawing him in like an unwitting moth to an oblivious flame.  James had started spending time with him out of curiosity rather than anything else, delighting in Q’s shy nervousness as they had become closer.  James was surprised when his initial interest in his quartermaster turned into an increasing affection.  He’d honestly thought himself long incapable of ever falling in love again after Vesper.  When they’d finally slept together for the first time, James had found out the full extent of Q’s insecurities about his body and he took his time charming him into opening up to him.  Q stretched out like this, dressed only in his clingy black jockey shorts and sleepily allowing James to massage his weakened legs, would have been something unthinkable back in those early days.

He ran his hands up Q’s leg, feeling for any remnants of cramp.  The muscles under his palms seemed relaxed now.  Q breathed out shakily as James’s knuckles accidentally brushed the bulge in his pants.  Grinning, James cupped him through the soft cotton.

“That hasn’t got cramp …” Q murmured, a smile ghosting over his face.

“Are you sure?” James asked playfully, “It feels to me like it’s starting to get awfully stiff …”

Q giggled when James ducked down and, easing his leg to the bed once more, mouthed at his cock which was very slowly hardening.  He breathed into the material, running his hands up his thigh to grope him again.  Q reached down and grasped his hair, encouraging his actions.

“I don’t suppose either of us are going to get much sleep now, are we?”

James hummed, delighting at the twitch it earned him.

“I’m going away… I won’t be able to do this again for ages… How am I going to cope?”

“You’re only going for two days!” Q exclaimed as James slowly drew down his underpants.  He nuzzled his naked, and now very interested, cock.  Q sighed dramatically.

“Fine, okay.  Get the lube.”

 

~00Q~

 

Q drove into MI6’s secure carpark a little after seven o’clock.  His body ached pleasantly as he parked up and got himself into his wheelchair.  He smiled as he waited for the lift that would take him down to his branch’s subterranean offices.  He thought about how he and James had spent the early hours of the morning.  James had been stunning, making love to him slowly and gently.  The way that his abs rippled as he worked himself in and out of Q’s body was probably one of his favourite things in the world.

He rolled into the lift when it arrived, pressing his thumb into the print-reader and allowing the retinal scanner to confirm his identity.  He keyed in the passcode for Q-branch and waited for the car to descend.  He huffed with laughter as he remembered how they’d barely made James’s check-in time.  The way James wouldn’t stop kissing him goodbye in the no-stopping drop-off point outside Terminal One at Heathrow had almost cost Q a parking ticket.  Eventually he’d dislodged James by playfully trying to punch him in the bollocks before speeding away.  He’d left James to deal with the annoyed security guard.  With a muted ‘ding’ the doors slid open and he wheeled himself into the quiet bustle of Q-branch.

“Morning Boss, you’re early.” R greeted him as he picked up a clipboard.

“James had an early flight – I thought I may as well come straight in from dropping him off.  What have I missed?”

R began going through his notes.

“Not much.  004 has gone quiet in Beijing – she reported that she was going to infiltrate a party on a private island belonging to that oil magnate she’s tailing.  She might well be dark for the next day or two.  003 has landed back in the UK.  He’s currently in the East End of London following the trail of that Jihadist cell the French discovered.  He’s liaising with Carter from MI5.”

Q nodded. He’d had dealings with Bob Carter before – he was a good man.

“Um… Tanner was down here just after you left last night complaining about his diary not working properly…”

Q raised his eyebrows.  Bill had exceptional organisational and working I.T. skills so quite why the basic function of the calendar system should give him problems…  

“Anything else?”

“Um.  Just a few more things for your immediate attention.  Erm… Weapons Testing have completed the first series of tests on the new Walthers – they’ve placed the results on the system for your perusal…  Medical have replaced 006’s faulty tracker.”  He handed Q a small plastic bag which contained what looked like a large metallic grain of rice, “You said you wanted to check it over personally…  The beta-testing of the Integrated Information Network seems to be running ahead of schedule.  Looks like we’ll be ready to introduce Italy’s data by the end of this week rather than next.  Finally, I bumped into Moneypenny on the way to the canteen last night.  She wants to know if you’re free tonight for – and I quote – ‘a girly night in’.  Something to do with keeping you entertained while your ‘big hunk of a man’ is away.”

Q groaned and rolled his eyes.

“My God, is she even real?” He laughed.  “I’ll speak to her later.”

He propelled himself into his office and was pleased to see that a hot cup of tea was waiting for him on his desk.  Positioning himself in front of his computer and extracting his laptop from his messenger bag, he took off his coat and got down to work.

He spent an hour catching up with his emails before going to his workbench and examining the tracker.  Under a powerful Mantis magnifier, he soon saw the problem.  One of the contacts had come loose within the tiny device.  He reattached it and then sent an email to R&D explaining how he’d carried out the repair and asking them to look into how they might avoid it happening again.  He added that he would drop this one back to them later in the day.  He was inordinately proud of these little devices.  They were completely inert until inserted under the skin.  Once implanted, the low level electrical field of the body activated them.  All field agents and key personnel had them implanted as standard now.  He popped the device back into its bag and slipped it into his shirt pocket, under his cardigan.  He was about to go through 003’s last update when his phone rang.  He snatched it up.

“Q here.”

_“It’s Moneypenny.”_

“Eve.  What can I do for you?”

_“Don’t you read your diary?  You were supposed to be in M’s office for a meeting ten minutes ago.”_

Q frowned.

“Really?  I looked at it when I came in.  I saw nothing booked in before my meeting with Scotland Yard at noon…”

He pulled up the calendar screen.

“I’m double-checking... there’s nothing.”

There was a pause.

_“Q darling, I’m looking at the appointment right now on the shared system.”_

A small alarm bell began to ring in his head and he went through R’s notes from the morning’s handover.  Bill Tanner had been complaining about his diary.

“Moneypenny.  Tell M I’ll be up presently.  I think there’s a problem with the IT system and I need to get it chased down ASAP.”

_“Understood.”_

Moneypenny rang off and Q immediately pushed himself out into the main room.  He would need every available programmer to assist him in tracking down the problem.  He raised his voice.

“Guys?  Put your hand up if you’re currently working on time-sensitive projects.” Half a dozen technicians raised their hands. “OK the rest of you, come with me.”

He led them through to the conference room.  When they were settled he spoke.

“Tanner from Operations was down here last night complaining that his calendar was having problems.  Did anyone look into it?”

Waites raised his hand.

“I think Dunn sorted it out for him, Sir.  Got him to re-boot his terminal.”

Q pinched the bridge of his nose.  He could almost hear Michael Dunn telling Tanner to try turning his computer off and on again.  He really wasn’t the most brilliant employee in Q Branch.  He was a decent enough coder but tended to overlook the bleeding obvious on occasion.

“Did it occur to Dunn to run a systems check?”

There were a lot of blank faces.

“The calendar is a live system.” He said slowly, feeling like he was talking to three year olds and not part of what was essentially the country’s finest IT department, “If I place an entry on it, anyone authorised on the network can see it immediately.  Did it not occur to anyone to check why there was an inconsistency?”  More blank faces but this time they were accompanied by uncomfortable shifting.  He sighed.  “OK.  Level one checks.  Comb the system, look for entry points, anything unusual.  I want a preliminary report on my desk by the time I get back from my meeting with M.  If we’ve been hacked I want to know how the hell they got in.”  

His staff dutifully left, rushing to their terminals, each eager to be the one to solve the problem.  Q followed them out and then took the lift to M’s office.

When he returned an hour later, R met him with their findings.  They’d found evidence of tampering on several functions, not only on the calendar but also on other key personnel records.  The strange thing was that no-one had managed to spot where the system had been breached.  Q frowned.  He couldn’t understand it.  Why break in so cleverly they left no trace and then be clumsy enough to affect a basic function of a well-used program?  He shook his head.  It didn’t make any sense at all.

 

~00Q~

 

James sat on British Airways flight BA936 and sighed.  There’d been a small engine fire on a plane ahead of them in the queue as it had tried to take off.  James’s flight been delayed by over two hours waiting for the ailing aeroplane to be emptied of its passengers and removed from the runway.  They were in the air now though and due to land in fifty minutes.  He looked at his watch.  With any luck he’d still make his first meeting in time.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone.  The screen activated and he smiled at the picture that greeted him.  James’s passcode was obviously no deterrent for his computer genius husband.  The desktop photo had changed from a generic rolling landscape to a shot of an obviously shirtless Q lying in bed and grinning cheekily up at the lens. Q must have snapped the selfie while James was out of the bedroom making them breakfast earlier that morning.  A thickly German-accented voice spoke;

“Ooh… who is that handsome young man?”

James looked up at the elderly woman who was sitting in the window seat next to him.  She must’ve been eighty years old at least.  He smiled at her nosey enquiry.  He usually kept his personal life exactly that; personal, but the old dear looked harmless enough.

“He’s my husband.

“How thoroughly modern of you.” She tittered. “May I see?”

She tilted her head and he obligingly turned the screen so she could get a better look.  She clapped her hands together once in delight.

“Oh, but isn’t he a cherub!  You must love him very much.”

James turned the phone back towards himself.

“Yes,” he admitted honestly, “I do.”

“Why does he not fly with you today?  Düsseldorf is beautiful at this time of year…”

James tucked his phone away.

“I’m visiting on business so I had to leave him at home sadly.  He would have hated it anyway.  Can’t stand flying.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.  After all, the aviation accident the crippled him killed his poor family.”

James’s blood ran cold at the old lady’s words.  He made to move out of his seat but her cold, dry hand clamped around his wrist, stilling him.  She leaned in and spoke quietly.

“Don’t be foolish Commander Bond.  I am not here to injure you.  How could I? I am an old lady.  I am merely a messenger.  A chaperone if you will. Do not be deceived however Commander, there are others who watch and who will not hesitate to cause you harm.  Men will meet us off the plane in Düsseldorf.  You will go with them and do as they say.  If you don’t your beloved husband will die.  If this plane is diverted, he will die.  If you try to warn anyone, he will die.  Do you understand the message I have given you?  You will do as you have been instructed to the letter or your husband’s blood will be on your hands.  And I have been instructed to inform you that he will not die well.”

“Instructed by whom?”

She didn’t answer but turned the newspaper over in her lap and started doing the crossword puzzle.  His hands tightened into fists in frustration.  Without knowing who was watching he would be stupid to try anything.  He couldn’t see any alternative but to do as he was bidden until he could see a way out.

He just wished he could warn Q.

 

~00Q~

 

Q pulled out of MI6’s carpark and eased into the busy lunchtime traffic.  He checked his watch.  He had twenty minutes to get to Scotland Yard.  It was only a mile and a half away but he would be lucky to make it in time.  James had expressed surprise when he’s first discovered that Q preferred to drive himself to meetings but as there was no directive preventing him from doing so he enjoyed using the time to think.  As his car crawled along he fiddled with the stereo until he found the Team Rock radio station.  They were playing AC/DC and he hummed along with “Whole Lotta Rosie”.  The sun was out and the day was unseasonably warm for late September.  He knew his security protocols inside-out however so rather than open a window, he turned on the air conditioning.

He thought over the conundrum of the calendar.  His staff had found anomalies in several people’s appointment calendars.  Tanner’s, James’s, his own, three of the lower-level staff members in Logistics and several of his own staff’s; R, Moss, Dunn, Cressington to name but a few.  It didn’t make any sense.  What had they been looking for?  And why those staff members?  Another thought kept niggling at him.  When Tanner came into Q-Branch about his calendar, why hadn’t…

His chain of thought was abruptly and brutally cut off.

As he approached the roundabout where he would turn onto Lambeth Bridge there was a sudden jolting shudder and the sound of tearing metal as the front of his car suddenly slewed to the left, shunted by something slamming into the back of it.  The airbag in his steering column deployed but the one in his door failed and his head slammed into the window.  He saw stars as his glasses were forced into the bridge of his nose and he was vaguely aware of something crunching before a nauseating pain and a warm wetness enveloped his face.

“Wha’ the fuck?”  He shook his head, trying to clear his vision and groaned as the pain intensified.  He must have been hit by something.  What the fuck just hit him?  He wiped his face with one hand, wincing at the pain, even as he groped for his phone.  His hand came away from his face bloody.  His nose felt broken.  He initially intended to dial 999 but froze as he saw two men in balaclavas rushing towards him.  Instead he dialled 01#.  The call was immediately answered by Tanner.

_“Go ahead.”_

“It’s Q. I’ve been compromised.  Repeat, I’ve been compromised.  Emergency Protocol Alpha.  Emergency Pro…”

He stopped talking as the first man to reach him produced what looked like an enormous bolt gun.  He pressed it to the corner of the driver’s side window and deployed it.  It shattered the corner of the bullet-proof glass and his associate used his crowbar to lever pieces of it free from the frame.  Q undid his seatbelt and desperately tried to drag himself away, keying a kill code into his mobile.  If they searched its call history now all it would show would be an aborted call to the emergency services. He fumbled for the glove compartment where a Walther, coded to his palm, was stashed.  He grunted as one of the man grabbed him by the shoulder before he could get to the gun and tried to haul him out of the car through the broken window.  He turned and, balling his left hand into a fist, swung his arm and punched his assailant as hard as he could in the face.  There was a satisfying crunch as the man’s nose broke under the impact.  Payback for his own.  The man snarled, momentarily stunned and then grasped Q’s arm, yanking him out of the car over the broken glass.  Q yelled as the jagged edges cut into him through his clothing, scratching him raw.  Once clear of the vehicle he was dropped onto the floor and immediately kicked in the stomach.  

He heard a man’s voice shout “hey” from down the road followed by a gunshot and screaming.  Q squeezed his eyes shut for a split-second and hoped to God they hadn’t killed the poor man who’d obviously just tried to help him.  More balaclavas appeared and Q fought like a wild animal, punching anyone who neared him but he was helpless to prevent two of them from pinning him as a third pulled out a scanner.  He ran it over Q’s left thigh until a low beep sounded just above his knee.  Pulling out a switchblade the man stabbed it into the spot.  Q found a gloved hand clamped over his mouth when he screamed as the knife dug deep.  After what seemed like an eternity (but was probably no more than a couple of seconds) blunt fingers pushed obscenely into his leg and pulled out his locater.  Q had limited sensation on that side of his leg but the sense of violation was overwhelming.  Dropping the locator chip onto the tarmac, they dragged Q into the back of a waiting van.  

He continued to fight and struggle - cursing his stupidity at being caught out, cursing his insistence on driving himself and cursing his useless fucking legs – until a rag that smelt sweet at first and then increasingly sour was held over his mouth and nose.  He briefly recognised the smell as chloroform before everything faded away…

 

~00Q~

 

_“It’s Q. I’ve been compromised.  Repeat, I’ve been compromised.  Emergency Protocol Alpha.  Emergency Pro…”_

The line went dead.

“Emergency Protocol Alpha!” Tanner barked and all staff in the department immediately stopped what they were doing.  He accessed Q’s travel plan for the day and brought it up onto the large screen which dominated the Operations department.  “The quartermaster has been compromised.  Jones!  Call up the traffic cameras on his route.  Murphy!  Mobilise a Rapid Response Team.  I want them at his location ASAP.  Stephano!  Liaise with the local law enforcement.” He dialled Moneypenny’s extension.

_“Moneypenny.”_

“Inform M that the quartermaster has been compromised on his way to Scotland Yard.”

_“Oh God.  Kidnapped?”_

“Too soon to say.”

He rung off.  His staff immediately began to call out, updating him.

“Sir, traffic cams are all down on that section of the South Bank.”

“Sir, 999 calls are coming in from the south end of Vauxhall Bridge reporting gunshots.”

“Rapid Response Team Five are on their way Sir.  I’m directing them to the site of the reported shots.  ETA six minutes.  Patching you through to their leader now.”

_“This is Beckett.”_

“Tanner here.  Q phoned me two minutes ago.  Emergency Protocol Alpha.  No details but emergency service calls indicate gunfire.”

_“Understood Sir.”_

Tanner waited nervously as news trickled in.  His staff worked efficiently, gathering information.  Social media was scanned.  One tweet mentioned five masked men.  Another, a white van.  A grainy, shaky camera video appeared on Facebook after four minutes entitled “Shit Goin Down!!!1!” which showed a man being dragged out of a car and kicked.  The amateur cameraman lost interest in filming after a gunshot was heard and he ducked behind a car.  Tanner calmly relayed all pertinent information to Beckett who was racing towards the scene with his team as another member of staff quickly and efficiently adjusted all traffic lights in their favour.

M appeared at his elbow.

“Situation report.”

Wordlessly, Tanner replayed the video.  It was clear to both of them who the struggling man on the ground was.

“Christ.  Q. Taken?  Killed?”

“Unknown at this present moment Sir.”

They listened as Beckett and his team moved in.

_“This is it guys.  Move with a purpose.  Let’s get our quartermaster back.”_

The six-man team’s body camera feeds appeared on the main screen.  They briefly whited out as the men deployed out of the back of their truck and then adjusted to the bright daylight.  They all showed the same thing.

No masked men.

No van.

Just smears of blood by the quartermaster’s wrecked car.

Beckett spoke, his voice low.

_“No sign of Q, Sir.  He’s gone.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q are at the mercy of their captors as the reason for their abduction become clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, thank you for reading and please take note of the warnings in the tags.

James moved through Customs at Düsseldorf Airport without a hold-up. 

The old lady had taken his arm as they left the plane and he supposed they must look like mother and son. His own mother died when he was young but he didn’t remember ever wanting to kill her quite as much as he wanted to murder this old bitch. If he could, he would have gleefully strangled her for her part in threatening Q. Her passport said her name was Elke Schlim but he didn’t suppose for a moment that was her real name. He walked her to the baggage retrieval carousel and grabbed his own small case. ‘Elke’ retrieved a large, heavy suitcase which she made him pull behind him, ensuring both his hands were occupied and on view to anyone watching them. She steered him towards the closest exit, warning him quietly that they were being watched and not to try anything foolish. 

James remained outwardly serene but inside he was desperately trying to think of a way out. The immediate problem he had was that he didn’t know who was watching them. One wrong move could result in Q’s death so he bided his time and stayed alert. His stomach sank as he suddenly spotted his F.I.S. contact, Bernhardt Bay, walking towards him. He swore to himself. This could ruin everything. Why did his kidnappers not anticipate this? His plane was delayed by two hours, of course the F.I.S. would send someone to collect him to ensure he’d get to his first meeting on time.

Suddenly, blindingly, he saw the ghost of a chance… If they’d known who Bernhardt was, surely they’d have stopped him already. He wouldn’t be approaching James so directly with a smile on his face. When they were a few meters apart, keeping his head still James quickly looked at the old woman and then around to the left and the right. Finally he blinked rapidly three times, then slower three times, then three fast blinks again. 

S.  
O.  
S.

Bernhardt hesitated for for no more than a split-second before his eyes widened slightly. He put his hand up to James and spoke in a halting English which he knew to be affected.

“Excuse me Sir? You are English? You fly from Heathrow? On the slow flight, yes?”

James nodded, aware of the old bitch’s hand tightening on his bicep.

“Yes, indeed. Although we are in rather a rush to meet our friends...”

“Did you see a young lady?” Bernhardt pressed on, “A blond girl? Nineteen years old? I am waiting for my daughter you see.”

James smiled.

“I’m not sure but there were still lots of people collecting luggage when we left. Maybe she’s still there.”

Bernhardt nodded.

“Thank you. Sorry for your interruption.”

“No problem.”

They passed each other, Bernhardt’s approach to James explained away to the old woman and anyone else watching. He just hope to God the man was as good as his reputation said. There wasn’t much James could have said to alert him without tipping off the old bitch but hopefully he’d pick up on the ‘friends’ James had mentioned....

Three blocks from the airport, sitting in the back of the limousine that had been waiting for them, he spotted a black unmarked F.I.S. Mercedes filter into the traffic lane beside them out of the corner of his eye. He sat back and silently thanked Bernhardt for his vigilance.

 

~00Q~

 

Consciousness came back to Q by increments.

First was the feeling of discomfort. His face, side, leg and stomach all throbbed.

Then the awareness that he was lying face down on a hard, cold surface. He'd lost his glasses and everything looked fuzzy and unfocused. When he groaned and retched he was abruptly grabbed and dragged up onto a chair. Not seated properly, he immediately began to tilt before he had hands tucked under his armpits and he was yanked upright again. He shuddered and blindly grabbed for the seat, clinging on when he felt himself slip again. He jumped and gasped when a bucket of freezing water was poured over his head.

“Wake up Quartermaster.”

He shivered while woozily trying to clear his head. His cover identity. What was his cover identity again? Unable to focus, he settled for frowning.

“What? No. I’m not…”

A back-handed blow struck him high across his right cheek and his head snapped back.

“Don’t lie. You are MI6’s Quartermaster.”

Alex. His cover name was Alex.

“No… I’m a programmer… My name is Alex. Alex Coveney. I…”

His hair was grabbed and his head was yanked back. He whimpered as he found himself face-to-face with his kidnapper. He was a well-dressed, well-groomed middle-aged man in a dark suit. Q couldn’t stop himself from instinctively cowering back as the man loomed over him.

“We know who you are. You are Thomas Ellison Bond. You have been the Quartermaster of MI6 for almost seven years. You are married to the retired Double-0 agent Commander James Bond. We want the access codes to the I.I.N. We have your husband and if we don’t get them, you will both die.”

The I.I.N. 

The Integrated Information Network was one of Q’s pet projects. After nearly four years of hard work and delicate negotiations, Britain’s allies were beginning to upload data to it. When fully operational it would become the single most important tool against global terrorism intelligence agencies had ever seen. As its architect, Q had the highest level of access to it. It was vital that it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. He shook his head.

“Married? I’m not married. I’m not him. Easy mistake I grant you as we both use wheelchairs but my name’s Alex Coveney and…” Dark Suit drew his fist back and punched Q in the solar plexus. It was a single blow but it was powerful and accurate. The air was forced out of Q’s lungs and he doubled over. Unable to move his legs effectively he toppled off the chair and onto the floor. He fought the urge to vomit as he struggled for breath. Dark Suit crouched down next to him and spoke quietly.

“You are Thomas Ellison Bond,” he repeated, “and we want the codes Q. You will find we are very persuasive…”

Q pressed his face to the cold wet floor and closed his eyes.

 

~00Q~

 

James sat alone in silence as the car passed through Düsseldorf. The old bitch was gone; she had wandered off towards the taxi rank as he approached the limo. He wondered who she was. A relation of one of the kidnappers or someone who was simply tempted by enough money for her grandchildren to not ask questions? He mentally dismissed her. She was gone now and he wasn’t sure he cared either way.

There were two people in the front of the car with him now. He could see their outlines through the smoked glass of the partition. One of the men, a tall gaunt individual, had held the door open for him wordlessly, dressed as a chauffeur. James looked over the interior. Tell-tale signs of scuffs and repeated vacuuming indicated that the car was a rental. James guessed the number plates would be fake. His bet would be that it would be a burnt out wreck by the end of the day. After five minutes of silence there was a static burst and a tinny voice spoke from a hidden speaker.

“Your Walther and your phone. Please remove them and place them in the drawer to your right.”

James didn’t see any option but to obey. He drew out his weapon and briefly considered shooting his way out. Immediately he dismissed the idea. Until he knew what, if anything, had happened to Q it was better to play along. He placed the gun in the drawer which he could see had been left open a crack. He reached into his pocket and, drawing out his phone, tossed it in after it. As he closed it he heard the quiet ‘snick’ of the lock engaging.

“There is a small door in the woodwork to your left Commander. Open it.”

James glanced down and saw the door. Opening it he saw a small medical kit. He removed it.

“Take the scalpel. Use it to remove your tracker.”

James sighed. He might have known this was coming. Wondering if he could bluff them, he went to roll up his trouser cuff.

“We know where it is located. Your left pectoral please Commander. Quickly.”

Outwardly his face remained stony as inwardly James’s stomach twisted with foreboding. They knew where his tracker was. There was only one way they could know that…

Back in the days of the previous quartermaster, trackers (as the locator chips were commonly known) had been inserted as standard in the left forearm. This made their removal a quick and easy task for MI6 but also made them simple to locate and disable for enemy agents. Bond remembered having his own painfully cut out in Montenegro during the mission at Casino Royal. Q had designed new trackers that were smaller and capable of relaying biometric information to Medical on a live feed, as well as pinpoint the person’s location. When his Q had introduced the new trackers, he and Conroy from Medical had set up a med lab so that each person receiving one could implant them themselves in private. They were then each told to handwrite on a sealed section of their physical medical notes exactly where the trackers were. The new transmitters were extremely difficult to find, even with a scanner, unless you knew exactly where to look, which made them almost impossible to eradicate. The blind system kept the tracker’s location secret and away from digital records, eliminating the slim possibility that an enemy could hack in and obtain the information. He unbuttoned his shirt and picked up the scalpel. Looking down at the ugly twist of scars in which he’d placed his tracker, he saw the smudged bruise of a love bite beside them. He set his jaw as he wondered again where Q was and slid the blade in.

James grunted as he cut. After a moment or two the blade met resistance and he used the small pair of tweezers in the kit to dig out the tracker. Immediately the window next to him slid open an inch.

“Out of the window please, Commander.”

He did as he was told, tossing the now useless piece of metal and the window closed again. He picked up the butterfly strips and set about cleaning himself up. His brain worked furiously. If they knew where his tracker was, someone with access to his physical medical notes had told them. They were kept in a secure location somewhere in Medical. Even Bond wasn’t a hundred percent sure where that was exactly. There was only one logical conclusion;

MI6 had a mole.

If that was the case, it might well be someone who knew Q, which meant his cover identity was useless. That made him vulnerable. If Q was harmed, Bond vowed to find the mole and make them pay. 

Dearly.

He was doing up his shirt again as the car entered the Rheinufer Tunnel. He’d begun wondering if his F.I.S. tail had been noticed when there was a colossal bang and the sound of tearing metal from directly behind them. The limousine screeched to a halt and moments later the door was wrenched open. He coiled, ready to spring, before realising he was looking down the barrel of a gun.

“Quickly.” the voice barked. He recognised it as being the voice from the intercom as a hand reached in and grabbed his shoulder. He climbed out of the car and the gun was jammed into his ribs.

“Now we run.” the man commanded and shoved James. Glancing over his shoulder, James saw the F.I.S. car that had been following. It was crushed against the wall of the tunnel by a burning articulated lorry which had slewed, blocking much of the entrance. He stumbled before turning away and running from the limo with his two captors.

 

~00Q~

 

“Sir? Mr Tanner?”

Tanner and M had almost finished their conversation about their next moves when Bill spotted the intern hovering, trying to catch his eye. He excused himself for a moment.

“What is it, Carter?” 

The girl held out a telephone message sheet and blushed, looking terrified to be so close to M. 

“I don’t know if it’s relevant but Doctor Conroy phoned to say… I mean, I told her you were busy…”

Tanner took her aside a step, turning slightly so that she wouldn’t be distracted by M staring her down.

“What did she say?”

“Well sir. It’s Commander Bond.”

“What about him?”

“Um, apparently his medical tracker has stopped working...”

M stepped forward and the girl visibly cowered.

“When did this happen?”

She looked at the paper in her hands. 

“A few minutes after the quartermaster’s went dead. Doctor Conroy doesn’t think Bond has died, the readings up to the signal loss were a little elevated but not enough to indicate pain or death. I was coming to tell Mr Tanner but the Rapid Response Team had just got into position and you two were talking after and…”

M swore and then apologised to the shocked girl for his language. Thanking and dismissing her, he turned to Tanner.

“You know what this might mean.” 

Tanner nodded.

“This is all too much of a coincidence. Bond’s tracker goes dead just as the quartermaster is taken? We have to work on the theory that he’s been taken as well. It might mean that this isn’t someone out for a reward. They intend to use the Bonds’s relationship with each other as leverage. They want information. The question is,” Tanner mused, “who has the information that they want?”

“My money would be on Q but it wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions.” M answered.

“Sir?” It was Jones, calling from his terminal on the other side of the room. “I have a Bernhardt Bay from the F.I.S. on the line.”

“Right on cue. Put him on the central screen.” M commanded. A moment later the German’s worried face appeared.

“M. I bear bad news; Bond has been taken.”

“Any idea by whom?”

“He was last seen at the airport with an elderly woman…”

“Elderly woman?”

“She was picked up a few minutes ago. We are working on getting her identity. The passport she was carrying was a fake.”

“And Bond?”

“He was forced into a car which my agents are now following covertly. With any luck…”

There was a commotion off-screen and Bernhardt excused himself. When he returned a moment later, he was ashen.

“I’m sorry M. We’ve lost him. The agents following him in the first car have been killed in a collision going into a traffic tunnel. The second car was blocked by the ensuing congestion. They tried to follow on foot but the car he was in was found abandoned.”

“Traffic cameras?”

“All disabled. We’ll keep looking though. We’re currently combing the footage from the cameras further up the road. Maybe we can see Bond in a different vehicle...”

The German didn’t sound hopeful but M expressed his thanks anyway.

“Your help is appreciated. Please let me know if you find anything.”

Bay nodded and the feed was cut. M turned back to Tanner.

“I think the chances of them spotting Bond are slim to none.”

“Agreed Sir. He could be in a van, behind blacked out windows, in the boot of a car for all we know.”

“My thoughts exactly. We’ll let the F.I.S. concentrate on trying to find Bond. Our focus needs to stay on Q. I want all avenues pursued. All traffic cameras checked. I want to know what happened to that van. Scan the social media footage of the assailants. See if we can’t extrapolate from that who Q’s kidnappers were. If we can identify the heavies we might be able to narrow down who the mastermind is. Speak to MI5 and the global stations. Find out if they’ve picked up any chatter that might indicate which group might want to take him.” He leant forward onto the desk in front of him. His next words were quiet.

“I want him found.”

~00Q~

Q could recall with startling clarity the plane crash which killed his family. The way the seconds stretched like warm toffee until the four minutes from engine failure to the impact into the ski slopes at Bourg-St-Pierre seemed like a hundred years. He remembered his father’s futile attempts to wrestle the small plane into a gliding landing, his mother’s panicky fussing over his brother’s seatbelt and his brother’s screaming. Jonty had been too young to realise the seriousness of their predicament but was distraught at his mother’s rough handling of him as she tried to force the malfunctioning belt clasp to lock. He remembered the impact. The sound of tearing metal and glass shattering. The agony as his back and hips were twisted beyond breaking point…

And then the almost silence.

The drip of snow melting off the warm engine…

He awoke ten days later in a hospital in Geneva, his days of walking unaided finished. His mother’s best friend Margey was there. She’d flown out from England the moment she’d heard, she said. He had no living family that he knew of, so she would eventually take him in and love him like he was her own. When she softly smoothed his hair back off his face and asked him if he remembered what happened he had shaken his head. 

Some things were better left forgotten.

As he lay on the floor of the room he was being held in, the time seemed to stretch out again. Dark Suit had not been pleased at Q’s repeated denial of who he was. After being unable to extract an admission of his identity he had left him with one of his goons who had taken great delight in beating him for what seemed like an age. Several jarring punches to his stomach had him retching. He lost count of the number of times he was hauled back up onto the chair, only to fall again when he lost his balance under the rain of blows. The man hadn’t said a word during the assault, communicating only with his fists before abruptly leaving the room. Q was left in a heap on the floor.

Q tried to shift – his hip was pressing uncomfortably into the stone floor. He was cold and wet and unable to stifle a groan as he moved. Unbidden, the memory of James lying next to him in bed and gently helping him to roll, his warm hands on his hips, sprang to mind. He closed his eyes remembering James’s soft touch. How he wished he was with him now.

With a pang of regret, he dismissed thoughts of James and tried to focus on his predicament. He squinted around the room. His eyesight was poor without his glasses but not so bad that he couldn’t take in most of the details. The window was long, positioned along the line of the ceiling. The low light indicated he was in a cellar. The room was clean but austere. Whitewashed walls and a plain concrete floor. There was a single light switch which operated the bare lightbulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling and a small camera high in one corner. Furniture consisted of the chair and a small, rickety-looking table. Q wasn’t sure how long he’d been here but he guessed the chances of MI6 knowing where he was were minimal. He could tell by the speed of the abduction that the squad who kidnapped him were professionals. As such, they must have used diversionary tactics to cover their tracks. The van he’d been bundled into was probably ditched at the earliest possible opportunity. He had no tracker. He was most likely in a house in a suburban street that had no cameras covering it. Without a time frame as a reference, the house could be anywhere. His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and Dark Suit returning with a laptop and two of his associates. He placed the laptop on the table.

“Get him up.”

The men obeyed, each grabbing an arm and hauling Q up. Q cried out as he was dumped on the chair again, the bruises on his torso stretching painfully.

“One more time. What are the access codes for the I.I.N?”

Q shook his head.

“My name is Alex Coveney. I work as a level two programmer at MI6. I am not privy to any classified information…”

Dark Suit held up a finger, silencing Q. His lips twisted into a cruel smile as he opened the laptop.

 

~00Q~

 

After running down the tunnel for two hundred yards James had been shoved towards a battered-looking van. It was tiny and looked like the type that a small shop would use for local deliveries. He was unceremoniously bundled into the back and the door was slammed shut. He took a note of the time as it lurched into action. The interior of the van was dark and smelt vaguely of fish. James hoped that, as the van cleared the tunnel, he might be able to see a chink of light. Some gap that he might be able to see out of and get some idea of the direction he was heading. There was nothing. So instead he concentrated on the number of left and right turns the vehicle took.

They travelled for around ten minutes before taking a left. After another thirteen minutes they took another left. There was a brief spell of weaving before they turned left again. James snorted quietly to himself. If they wanted to make him think he was being taken out of the centre of the city, they should have tried harder to cover the fact they’d just done a loop, probably back to within a mile or two of where they’d started. The van turned onto a steep incline and then stopped, the sound of a steel shutter rattling as the engine cut out.

The rear doors opened and the two men stood pointing their guns at him. The taller of the two (the “chauffeur”) wordlessly held out a pair of disposable handcuffs to him. Bond faced him as he slipped his hands into them and fought the urge to wince as they were closed, brutally tight, around his wrists. He laced his fingers together and began to surreptitiously flex each one in turn. He couldn’t afford to let his hands go numb which was undoubtedly what his captors wanted. He had some satisfaction in the fact that they would live to regret binding his hands in front of him though. Bond was also confident that once he decided to start fighting back, their regret – like their lives – would be brief.

He allowed them to push him towards a side door on the far wall of the large garage he found himself in. It was empty apart from the van they’d arrived in. He walked through the door to find a small room that looked like an abandoned office. Half a dozen workstations lay dormant, kitted out with outdated computers with chunky towers. On one of the desks the old I.T, had been pushed to one side to make room for a modern laptop which was running, albeit with a blank screen. The shorter man gestured at the wheeled office chair in front of it and Bond obediently sat down. Moments later the screen came to life.

Q.

His husband was hunched over and it looked as if he was clinging onto the chair they’d placed him on. Bond could see why. Blood stained his clothing in several places. A lot of it, Bond guessed, had come from his broken nose although there was a huge amount down the side of his cardigan and one leg of his trousers. Both of his eyes were blackening and there was a huge blooming bruise on his cheek that Bond recognised as coming from a fist. Fury started to rise in Bond but he crushed it before it could take a hold of him. Now wasn’t the time. Instead he widened his eyes in what he hoped looked like surprise.

“Alex? What the fuck are you doing there? Are you OK?”

The view moved and a smart-looking man stepped in front of the camera.

“Very amusing Commander Bond. You play the same game as your husband I see. Unfortunately, the time for games is over. Now is the time for action.” There was a click of a gun being cocked by Bond’s ear and the unmistakeable feeling of the barrel being pushed into his temple. “You have thirty seconds to decide Quartermaster; the access codes to the I.I.N. please or your husband dies.”

 

~00Q~

 

Q looked at James and tried to smile, the bruising on his face and the pull of his broken nose making it difficult. He chose his words carefully.

“I keep telling them I’m not Q but they won’t listen. I almost wish I was. It would mean the world to me to have someone like you to take care of me. Love me.” His words caught in his throat as he realised this might well be the last chance he ever had to speak to James. He tried to make them count.

“Twenty seconds left.”

“I think he loves you too, you know. You should hear him banging on about how perfect you are whenever he comes into my department. Anyone would think he was besotted.”

Q's voice cracked and Bond smiled. It was simultaneously one of the most beautiful and the most heart-breaking things Q had ever seen. He paused and then dropped his eyes, unable to carry on speaking while he looked into the pale blue eyes and careworn face he loved more than anything.

“Ten seconds Quartermaster.”

“They’re going to kill you James,” he said quietly, “whether I talk or not.” He looked up again, his voice suddenly rising in volume. “You need to get to safety. Get out of there James! GET OUT!”

As James nodded and started to move, Q’s head snapped forward as he was struck from behind. As he fell, plummeting into unconsciousness again, the last thing he heard was the sound of guns being fired three hundred and fifty miles away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond makes his move as things get worse for Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note; there's use of a couple of derogatory terms regarding the less able in this chapter.
> 
> These kidnappers really aren't very nice people.

One of the advantages of being married to the quartermaster of MI6 was that, despite being retired, Bond still got all the coolest toys. The watch had been a birthday present and as a joke Q had crammed as many gadgets into it as he could. James didn’t suppose that Q had ever imagined he’d ever have to use any of them for real once he’d retired from active service. As his captors were distracted by the screen of the laptop though, James had extended the small filament cutter from his Omega watch and with the same with the same small finger-flexing movements he’d begun when he was first restrained, he begun to slice through his handcuffs.

When Q had appeared on screen and it became apparent that they were trying to extract information from him Bond had tensed, ready to attack. He’d already cut through enough of the plastic that he could free himself with one twist of his wrists. He could have moved as soon as he realised he was being used as leverage against Q but he sat for a few precious seconds longer, greedily drinking in the sight of the man he loved. When Q began shouting, Bond reacted; lightning fast.

Retirement had had no adverse effect on Bond’s training regime or his reaction speed. He flexed his arms and immediately he was free, the cuffs snapped in two. He forced the gun at his temple up and then dropping off the chair, pulled his assailant’s wrist down with him. The gun, which a second before had been pointing at his head, went off with a loud retort, temporarily deafening him in one ear. The bullet missed him and found its way into the leg of the tall man opposite. In turn, the one-time chauffeur shot at Bond… only to find Bond had ducked out of the way, dragging his associate down with him. The headshot killed the shorter kidnapper stone dead. Grabbing his gun from his lifeless hand, Bond levelled it at the man currently writhing on the floor before walking over and kicking his weapon away. He turned back to the laptop. Q was nowhere to be seen and he guessed he’d been dragged away, most likely to prevent him from seeing that Bond was still alive. The dark suited man started to clap slowly.

“Well done Commander. You have saved me the job of eliminating the loose ends in Germany. You have succeeded in achieving nothing however. Your husband will still give us the information that we require and then we will kill him.”

“Don’t lie back on your laurels just yet.” Bond sneered. He tilted the laptop so that the camera picked up the injured man on the floor. “A loose end, hmm? I’m going to have fun seeing just how much your ‘loose end’ can remember about your operations before I wear him out. Good luck trying to extract sensitive information from a glorified data entry clerk.” The mole would soon positively identify Q, if they hadn’t done so already, but it couldn’t hurt to back up his cover identity.

As he watched the laptop’s screen went black as the connection was cut. He turned to the man on the floor. He had stopped writhing and was trying to crawl towards his gun. Bond walked over to him and calmly stepped onto the bullet wound on his thigh, pressing down.  
“Now then,” he said pleasantly to the screaming man, “first things first. Could I possibly borrow your mobile phone?”

~00Q~

Tanner’s team had managed to trace the white van as far as Bexleyheath before losing it in another camera blackout near the Dartford tunnel. Despite following every angle they could think of, there were no clues as to where it had gone. They were also going over the number plates of all of the cars that were near Q’s at the time of the attack in case the van had been a bluff. There was a possibility that Q had been bundled into one of them instead. Tanner stood next to M in the middle of the hubbub and gazed at the map of London in front of him. They were clutching at straws and everyone knew it.

“Where the fuck are you mate?” he muttered.

Just then his personal mobile phone rang. Just a few close friends and the staff at his father’s care home had the number. Distractedly, he answered it.

“Hello?”

“Tanner. It’s Bond.”

“Christ James, are you OK?” Tanner strode over to the smart desk by the main monitors and tapped a couple of icons. “I’m putting you on speaker. M’s here.” He placed the phone on a contact pad.

“Sounds like a fun party. Sorry to call your private number Bill but I’m using one of the kidnapper’s phones. Didn’t want to connect it to the MI6 phone system without vetting it first…” Bond said, his voice now carrying over the room.

“So you just thought you’d risk buggering up my phone instead.” Tanner grumbled, even as the smile on his face betrayed how relieved he felt to hear Bond’s voice.

“Where are you?” M demanded. Tanner leant over the desk and began to type furiously.

“Not sure actually…”

“He’s in Düsseldorf Sir. I’m sending Bond’s location to the F.I.S. now.” Tanner interjected having quickly traced the call.

“I’ve seen Q.”

“How so?” M asked. It had been just over two hours since he was taken. Hardly enough time to get him out of London, let alone the country.

“Video link, Sir.” Bond said. “I have a laptop here.”

“IP address?” Tanner immediately asked. There was a pause and then Bond read out the string of digits. He began to type again, activating his headset and rapidly speaking to R in Q-branch. “Bond, I’ve got Q branch running down the laptop. Make sure it stays on, would you? They’re going to see if they can’t trace where the feed came from and find out where Q is.”

There was a pause.

"So you don’t have any idea where he is?” Bond’s voice was tight.

“Sorry Bond.” M said.

“Word from F.I.S. Bond." Tanner interjected, "They’ll be at your location any minute. They say they’ll fuel a private jet for you. We’ll have you back in London in no time.”

“It won’t be ‘no time’ for Q.” Bond said quietly. There was a pause and then; “I’m sending you photos of my kidnappers. One’s bloody. Might not be much use.”

“There were only two?”

“As far as I know. One was killed outright with a headshot. The other was shot in the leg. I had hoped that he might have some information about Q… he must have had a heart condition or a poison capsule I didn’t see… he died before I could get him to talk.” There was a dull thud. “Fuck!”

“Bond?” Tanner asked. It sounded like Bond had just punched something. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” came the terse reply, “I have to go. Das cavalry are here.”

Bond hung up.

~00Q~

If Q never woke up groggy, disorientated and in pain on a concrete floor again, it would be too fucking soon.

He had no idea how long he’d been out for this time for but it was dark outside.  
His clothes were saturated again. He thought for a moment that they had doused him in cold water to wake him until he realised he was alone in the room. They’d done it while he was completely passed out then, most likely to try to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible upon waking. Well it was fucking working. He looked down at the puddle he was lying in and thought he’d probably pissed himself as well. He dismissed the idea as not worth thinking about. There was no way that a bit of wetting was going to concern him after twenty-odd years of coping with spinal damage.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore his physical discomfort. He thought about his predicament instead. Bond had been poised, ready to attack… and Q had every faith that he made it out alive. Regardless, they would try to convince Q otherwise. They might even be photoshopping ‘evidence’ of James’s death at that very moment. He considered their next moves. The discomfort thing was only going to get worse. Q guessed that at their next meeting he would be bound tightly or put in some other kind of increasingly uncomfortable situation. The man in the dark suit would start seeming compassionate, pretending to dislike what the other men were putting him through. He would try to convince Q that he could help him if only he were to help them. Then would come the actual torture… He swallowed hard around the bile that rose into his throat. He’d had all the training and read all the mission reports. He theoretically knew all the tricks to withstanding interrogation and torture but wondered if he was strong enough to keep his secrets. He didn’t hold out much hope for rescue. Even with Bond free and the fact that the ever-dependable R was probably hacking the computer in Germany at that very moment, he didn’t think there was much hope of his location being traced. Maybe if the feed was still active... If only they hadn’t found his tracker.

The door to the room opened and Dark Suit came back in. The two men accompanying him strode towards Q. He began to speak as one of them grabbed Q’s wrists and the other opened a flick knife. Q began to struggle as he hooked the knife into the waistband of his trousers and began to cut into the material.

“Please do not fight them Quartermaster. The time has come for you to finish your charade and come clean. You see, your husband has been killed thanks to your foolish petulance and my employers are getting weary of your games. I am a man of honour, sophistication and I thought you would be reasonable. Alas, they tell me I have had my chance. They are sending a colleague of mine – he will be here in a short while – and he is a man of extraordinary appetites. Once he is here I will not be able to prevent him from taking exactly what he wants from you. I have been told he can be remarkably cruel in obtaining both information and his own pleasure from his subjects.”

Q fought to contain a whimper as the man with the knife dragged off his trousers and underpants. He suddenly violently twisted his wrists in opposite directions and his right hand came free. He swung his fist and roundly thumped the side of his captor’s temple.

“Why you little fuck!” The man snarled and grabbed the hand again, this time kneeling on it heavily. Q shouted as he felt bones threatening to break. He gasped as his shirt and cardigan were sliced into. “Not so feisty now, eh?” he spat as he suddenly ground his knee into Q’s right hand. He yelled as he felt a series of snaps, like firecrackers, and his hand exploded into agony. Q jerked in reaction to the pain and was unable to withhold another yell as the knife slipped and sliced deeply into his abdomen. He slumped, the panic, pain and horror of his predicament overwhelming him. He barely registered as he was finally stripped naked, the ruined remains of his clothing tossed carelessly into the corner.

“Fucking spastic caught you a good ‘un Steve. Beaten up by a crip.” The knifeman chuckled as they stood up.

“He’s a fucking wanker. Let’s see if he’s so cocky after Collos has had done with him.”

Q had no warning before the man kicked him, his boot connecting heavily with his naked left hip. He screamed out as a sickening pain exploded in the joint. “That’s for my fucking face.” The man sneered before spitting on him. Q closed his eyes against the trembling rush of nausea that gripped him as they left him alone once more. He cradled his abused hand to his chest and pressed the other clumsily onto the bleeding cut in his side. When the blood began to trickle through his fingers, he fought to stop tears of pain and frustration from falling. The logical side of him had known this would happen. They were trying to wear him down physically, no doubt hoping that his stoicism and loyalty to his country would follow. They would keep inflicting discomfort and pain on him until he broke or they accidentally killed him.

Q prayed that if help didn’t come before he gave up his secrets; death would.

~00Q~

After five minutes or so of trying to engage Bond in small talk, the stewardess on the private jet gave up. She walked out of his private lounge in a huff after he pointedly ignored her attempts to chat to him. He gazed morosely out of the window as the plane ascended and sipped at the scotch he’d snagged out of the drinks cabinet on the way to his seat. There was a time when he would have demolished the bottle before landing and tearing England apart looking for Q. He downed the dregs in his glass and poured another drink, a humourless laugh escaping him.

That agent, that rough man who would have set the world on fire and not cared, was gone. He’d been smoothed over by the constant, unwavering love of his husband. His Thomas. Once upon a time Bond was certain he was going to die on the job. Once upon a time he knew he’d be shot or blown up or tortured to death in some far-flung corner of the world. He was so sure he’d go out cursing his killers and staying loyal to his beloved England with his dying breath. That man had nothing except his job. Nothing except his duty and the single-minded determination to do it to the detriment of all else.

And then he met Q.

He freely admitted to himself that Q had saved his life. Without knowing it, his husband had steered him away from his slow inexorable self-destruction and towards a life of happiness. In return, Tom had let James love him. It wasn’t always perfect but they were good together. So good.

The image that kept creeping into his mind was of Q lying in bed that morning. Sleepy, warm, naked and so, so trusting. The way he’d arched his neck as James had made love to him. So vulnerable. Was that really only twelve hours ago? His stomach tightened at the thought of someone hurting him. Someone abusing him. His hands unconsciously clenched, one into a fist, the other around the glass in his hand. He needed to know where they were as a part of him needed to punish them. He needed to kill them. He needed make Q safe.

He took another swallow of scotch. He itched all over. He hadn’t felt like this for years. The hunger for revenge had been a powerful motivator in the years following Vesper’s death. He shuddered as a black thought came to him. What if Q was already dead? What would James do without him? He angrily shoved the thought away. Q wasn’t dead. How could he be? James was certain he would feel it in the very core of himself if Q was gone. Wouldn’t he?

He was distracted by the pain in his palm and opened his hand to find bloody crescents from where his nails had been digging in. He looked around guiltily when he realised he’d zoned out and almost half an hour had passed but he was still alone. He flexed his now-stiff fingers and drained the glass of it's warm liquid before carefully putting it down. That was enough alcohol for now. He contemplated ringing Tanner again to check to see if there’d been an update. To see if they’d found his husband. The chances were he’d just annoy him though and distract him from their search. Bill had said he’d update him as soon as they knew anything.

He thought about that initial conversation he’d had with Tanner. It had been on the tip of his tongue to mention the mole but something had stopped him. Until he knew who he could trust…James placed his hands in his lap, forcing them to stay relaxed.

He impatiently waited for the plane to get him to London.

~00Q~

Q wearily waited for his kidnappers to return, drifting on the edge of consciousness.

He was freezing now and in more pain than he could ever remember. Even when going through operation after operation as a teenager he’d had access to painkillers. What he wouldn’t do for a warm bed and some codeine now… Well. He wouldn’t give up any of MI6’s secrets. That was one of the things he wouldn’t do.

The cut in his stomach had stopped bleeding but he kept his uninjured hand pressed onto it. He had tried to move it but air on the wound made it throb with agony. Instead he lay still and tried to think of a way to escape. Perhaps he could use the electrics in the room to start a fire, alert the neighbours… but he hadn’t seen a plug socket on the skirting board and he couldn’t stand to reach the light switch by the door. Besides, they were probably watching him via the camera. He shivered at the thought of the unseen eyes on him. He coughed weakly. He was so tired, despite the amount of time he’d spent unconscious that day. He was thirsty too. He wanted a drink. His mind started to drift and he fought it. No, he needed to be awake… he needed…he needed…

_“James, what are we doing?” Q was bundled up, cosy-warm in one of James’s skiing jackets. James wore the other one as he carried Q up the fire escape that led to the roof of their block of flats. James laughed but didn’t answer him as he shouldered open the door at the top of the stairs. There was a small flat roof here with a low balcony which overlooked part of the Thames. On it James had laid out a futon mattress which he now gently placed Q on. Q allowed James to manhandle him until he was reclining up against him, a thick blanket covering both their legs. A hot water bottle nestled between them, pressed up against Q’s lower back. He laughed as James plucked a bottle from the bucket next to them. “I’m not sure you needed to put that on ice my love. It’s fucking freezing up here.” James’s lips ghosted over the shell of his ear._

_“Hush. Where’s your sense of romance?”_

_“Frozen off, along with the rest of my extremities…”_

_He laughed and Q joined in as James popped the cork and it went flying over the side of the building._

_“Some poor bugger’s going to end up with that landing on them.” he giggled. He obediently held out the two flutes that James had handed him, holding them steady as they were filled with the foaming champagne. James put down the bottle and took one. There was suddenly the sound of chanting from a few streets over. “Is it that time already?”_

_James hummed. He kissed the side of Q’s neck making him shiver and touched their glasses together._

_“Happy New Year my darling…” They each took a sip before Q turned to kiss James, missing the first of the fireworks. The bright explosions illuminated the Thames as they heralded the start of the 2013. After a few moments Q turned back to watch the pyrotechnics, sipping at his champagne. It was dry and tasteless on his tongue. James whispered in his ear;_

_“You’ll get cold.”_

_“What?”_

_Q tried to turn back to look at James again but he was suddenly too cold to move._

_“Your clothes. You need your clothes…”_

_Q was confused. He knew this night. It was one of his happiest memories. He’d been chilled but he was never this cold. They’d watched the fireworks and snogged languorously before taking the champagne back to their flat. They polished it off in a warm bubble bath together. He looked down and saw his clothes had changed. No longer bundled up, James was trying to dress him in the clothes that had been sliced off him. He was trying ineffectually to pull his shredded shirt back around him. Q shuddered. Suddenly he didn’t want to James to touch him anymore. He hurt. Everything James touched hurt._

_“Your clothes darling. Put them back on.”_

_Q jolted._

_“I can’t,” he whispered, “they won’t keep me warm, they’re ruined.”_

_“But it’s important!” James was almost crying now, frantically dragging the rags back around Q’s aching body as quickly as they were slithering off him. “You’ll die without your clothes. You’ll die…”_

“…without your clothes.”

Q jerked awake muttering the words and wondered how long he’d been talking in his sleep. He tried to shift and couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him. He was shivering violently and he looked longingly at his ruined clothing. He wondered at the dream. Perhaps being cold had brought the memory of that night back to him. He tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the happiness he’d dreamt about. He gazed hopelessly at the pile of tattered rags which lay in the corner. He idly wondered if he actually could warm himself by covering his body with them… He caught a glimpse of pale blue in the pile. It was difficult to feel sorry for the destruction of the clothing, what with everything else going on, but he’d liked that shirt. James had helped him pick it out after nagging him for weeks that his work clothes needed smartening up. He’d taken him to see his tailor in Saville Row where she’d measured every inch of him, taking care of every detail. She’d been meticulous, right down to the length of the cuffs, the placement of the pocket and…

He blinked slowly at a dawning realisation.

The pocket.

How in God's name could he have forgotten?

006’s repaired tracker was in the shirt’s pocket.

He shook his head at his own stupidity at having forgotten it was there. Quickly making a decision, he glanced up at the camera. Taking a deep breath he began to drag himself towards the pile of clothing, berating himself for not remembering it sooner. True, this morning felt like it happened about eighteen years ago but still… He groaned as he dragged himself along the concrete floor, trying to ignore the way his naked body scraped along it. He just hoped to fuck his captors didn’t see what he was doing and decide to come and stop him. Whimpering, he persevered and finally reached his goal. Snagging his shirt and cardigan he pulled them towards him, covering his groin with them. If they were watching, he hoped this would look like self-consciousness rather than anything suspicious. Curling over and obscuring his hand from the camera he quickly found and fumbled the tiny device from the small plastic bag it was in. He looked over his body. He had two wounds he could use. The one on his stomach was fresher but the one on his thigh was much deeper. Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, he used his forefinger to push the tracker into his leg as far as he could.

~00Q~

Bond stepped down off the jet and was met by Eve leaning up against the side of an MI6 pool car. He nodded a greeting as she straightened up and approached him.

“Moneypenny. Any news on Q?”

She hugged him briefly.

“I’m sorry James, no.”

She released him before leading him to the car which was parked on the side of the private runway.

“Come on Commander.” Bond was surprised when Eve took his bag and opened the passenger door. Stepping back she said; “Hop in.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“You’re driving?”

“I thought you might prefer me to a nameless staff driver.”

“Really?”

She smiled at his lame attempt at a joke but a sadness remained around her eyes. It was a poor shadow of their usual jovial banter.

“Come on James.” She said. “Let’s get you back to base.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is safe now but Q must face his worst nightmare, and all while not knowing if his plan to alert MI6 has worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early this week as I've been feeling a bit under the weather and so had an extra day off work - which obviously I spent writing!
> 
> Please heed the tags for this chapter - things really don't go well for Q in it.

R was going over his report with Tanner and M. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry Sirs, it looks as though they covered their tracks too well. We traced the feed to the laptop back as far as Bogota but then it began duplicating at every connection point. It’s going to take us a week to track down the true source, even knowing it was most likely in the UK. They were too well prepared.”

M sighed.

“Do we have any other leads?”

“None Sir.” Tanner said, gazing up at the map of London. “Everything’s coming up blank.”

“Do we know who Bond’s kidnappers were?”

“No Sir. They haven’t shown up on any database we have access to.”

“Damnit.”

“Yes Sir.”

Tanner frowned as he noticed something strange.

“What the hell?”

He tapped in a few commands and the map expanded to show all of Europe.

“Tanner?”

“Sir,” he frowned, not looking away from the screen, “I don’t understand this.” He pointed to a location in Poland where a small red cursor blinked. “Look.” He typed in a command and called up 006’s personal tracker. “There’s Trevelyan. Currently on a covert security mission at a safe-house in Annopol. He went there yesterday.” He zoomed out again. “But look at this. This has just appeared in South Croyden.” He now pointed out another blinking light. He repeated the command and called up the medical details.

“But that’s impossible.”

“And yet there it is. Another working tracker registered to 006.”

“Might it be 003’s?” Asked Mallory, “He’s somewhere around there, isn’t he? Might his be malfunctioning?”

“Dexter’s there Sir,” Tanner pointed to a separate indicator. “He’s in Stepney. It’s close I grant you but…”

“Oh my God!” R exclaimed excitedly, butting in. “What if it’s Q?” He turned to M, forgetting to be polite in his excitement. “The chip! The fucking locator chip! 006’s original one was knackered so they swapped it out. I passed it on to Q this morning. He wanted to try to fix it. Hold on. Hold on!!”

They both watched in stunned silence as R quickly brought up a document.

“Look! His memo to R&D. It says here he’d fixed it and was going to drop it down to them but he can’t have, he wouldn’t have had time with his schedule this morning! HE MUST HAVE STILL HAD IT ON HIM!!”

R turned back to M.

“He’s found a way to activate it! We’ve found him. I always knew he was a fucking genius.”

“Get Dexter on the line.” M instructed. “Tell him I want my quartermaster back.”

 

~00Q~

 

The man, Collos, was not what Q expected at all.

After Dark Suit’s politeness and generally genteel manners he’d anticipated a thug. An animal sent to extract information by force. Instead the man before him was smart with even features. In another lifetime, a million miles away from this bare room of suffering, Q might even have called him handsome. Dressed in a pale pink polo shirt under a navy blue blazer and chinos, he looked like a Pro on his way teach a rich, bored housewife golf, rather than the kind of man who would torture. He crouched down next to Q as the man who’d broken his hand, who he now knew to be called Steve, stood guard by the door.

“Well now,” Collos said, his voice dripping with admiration, “Aren’t you a lovely one?” He reached out a hand but paused as Q snarled at him, lashing out at him with his fist but missing his target.

“Watch out for him.” Steve grunted from the doorway. “He’s got a bit of an attitude, that one.”

Collos chuckled.

“And so full of spirit. I shall enjoy you very much,” he said, “My employer has asked me here because you have something that he wants. It is my job to make you give it to him. A series of access codes I believe…”

He reached out again, quicker this time, and managed to smooth a finger down Q’s cheek before Q could jerk away. Q’s skin crawled as he began to recite the words that had become like a mantra over the past few hours.

“My name is Alex Coveney… I work in…”

Collos’s hand shot out and he grabbed a handful of Q’s hair, twisting it painfully.

“Rule number one. Don’t fuck with me. We know who you are. We have it on very good authority. See that camera? We have a close friend who positively identified you through that not half an hour ago.”

Q hadn’t realised it was possible for his spirits to sink any lower but his stomach dropped when he realised the implications of what the man had said. Any suspicions he’d had that there was a mole were confirmed. Someone had identified him. Even within MI6, there were scores of employees who didn’t know who he was. To all staff in Q-branch, Medical and Operations, all of whom he had regular direct dealings with, it was made very plain that his identity, as with any other senior member of staff, should be considered a closely guarded secret. Even when he visited R&D, the majority of the staff there only knew him as Alex. The mole would have to be someone close to him. Someone from one of those departments. From his own department maybe... Collos’s hand twisted again, forcing Q to bare his throat to him and breaking his chain of thought.

“I can see you thinking,” he growled, “Rule number two. No thinking. Unless you want to think about the codes you’re going to give me.” Unbelievably, he then smiled. “You’re so pretty. Does your husband ever tell you that? He should.” The hand in his hair released and quickly smoothed down his neck, making Q shiver and try to move away. Collos grabbed his shoulder, stilling him. “Don’t fight me pretty boy. I can make things very uncomfortable for you. Let me tell you how it’s going to be.

“I am going to get something from you in the next ten minutes. It will either be the codes or the use of your body. I am a man of simple pleasures. I know you have problems walking but I don’t suppose you have any trouble taking a man’s cock, do you? I’ll bet that husband of yours has had your arse more times than you could count. Mike always says 007 looks like the cat that got the cream whenever he swaggers into Q Branch. Is that why? Is it because he gets to ride that beautiful body of yours? Personally I hope you don’t give me the codes. I’m looking forward to hearing you scream.”

Q gasped as Collos shoved him back down onto the floor. He watched as he stood up and then slowly removed his jacket. He placed it neatly over the back of the chair which he then slid to the far wall of the room. He then pulled the table into the centre of the room. All the while Q was thinking furiously.

There were three ‘Mikes’ he could think of, who he dealt with personally as Q at MI6. There was Mike Dawson. Triage nurse in Medical. He’d been the first-responder that time Q broke his wrist. Then there was Michael Jones. He was one of Tanner’s staff.

And then there was Dunn.

Dunn, who worked in Q-Branch but never really got to grips with working as part of a team.

Dunn, who Tanner went to when he noticed a glitch with the system.

Dunn, who didn’t run a systems check when he should have. The systems check which would have alerted other staff to the fact the program had been interfered with.

_“Mike always says 007 looks like the cat that got the cream whenever he swaggers into Q Branch.”_

Into Q Branch.

Dunn was the mole. Q was sure of it. No wonder they hadn’t found an access point in their firewalls. The tampering had come from within. Most likely so Q’s captors could pick the best opportunity to take Bond and him simultaneously. He was shocked out of his thoughts when Collos tore away the tattered clothing Q had been using to protect his modesty.

“Now then,” he purred, “What are the access codes Q?”

 

~00Q~

 

Bond fought to contain the small seed of panic which was trying to thrive within him as Eve negotiated the rush hour traffic that swarmed around Heathrow. The itch was still there. It was growing steadily. The feeling of helplessness. Uselessness. He wanted to be out there, searching for his husband, not sat being chauffeured back to MI6. There was a brief electronic chirrup and Eve activated the Bluetooth headset she wore.

“Moneypenny.”

Bond couldn’t hear what the caller was saying but he looked at her with interest.

“Yes, he’s here with me now... I see.” She smiled. “Yes, of course. We’re in a bit of traffic.” She looked at her watch. “I should think that by that time we’ve made our detour and got there… OK. Thanks Bill.”

She deactivated the headset and, briefly glancing over her shoulder, abruptly changed lanes.

“Change of plan?” James asked.

“That was Tanner. They think they’ve found Q.”

James felt like all the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“Where? How?”

“No sure but 003 and a chap from MI5 are currently moving in on a house in Croyden.”

“Where?” James repeated. “You need to get me there now!”

“That’s not going to happen James.”

“Why the hell not?” James demanded, his hand unconsciously dropping to his seatbelt as if he was going to throw himself out of the car and start running.

“James, they’re in _Croyden_. Do you really want them to wait the hour and a half it might take us to get there in this traffic before they try to rescue Q? Also, you seem to forget that you are no longer an active agent. If we were right on top of them I couldn’t see M allowing you to take part in the rescue. You haven’t had a field aptitude test in well over a year.”

“But that’s all bullshit anyway…”

“James.” Eve’s voice was soft. “We all want him back and not one of us as much as you do. Let the agents do their job. I’m taking you home. I imagine Q might need some TLC when they get him back to Medical so why don’t you pick up some things for him and you’ll see him soon enough. Chances are we’ll still get to headquarters before him anyway.”

James relaxed back into his seat and nodded. What Moneypenny had said made sense. But he didn’t have to like it.

 

~00Q~

 

Q sobbed as he felt the hard line of Collos’s cock press into the crease of his arse. He fought rising nausea as he felt the heat of the man’s sex pulsing through the thin material of his underpants. Q hadn’t given away the codes – of course he hadn’t – and so Collos had hauled him up and laid him face down over the small table. Q had tried to fight back, whipping his upper body to and fro before Collos called over Steve from his position by the door. Collos had then held him while Steve used a length of material torn from Q’s own shirt to restrain his wrists. He’d bitten back a groan of pain as it dug into the wrist of the hand he’d broken earlier. Once secure, Steve had grabbed Q’s bound wrists and leant heavily on them, pressing them onto the table top.

“Ain’t never seen a bloke raped before,” he remarked, like he was chatting down the pub over a pint instead of waiting to see a man buggered against his will, “Might like a go myself when you’re done. If you don’t mind.”

Q heard Collos chuckle as he ground his erection into the valley between his buttocks. Q fought not to make a sound as his own genitals and his damaged hip were pushed painfully into the edge of the table beneath him.

“I’m not sure there’ll be enough to go around,” Collos said, “I intend to enjoy this little one fully. See if it loosens his tongue at all.”

He moved away for a second and then Q startled as he grabbed his hips again and slowly pressed back between his spread thighs. This time the underpants had been removed and Q moaned in disgust at the feeling of Collos’s naked cock as it pushed between his buttocks once again. Collos bucked his hips and laughed as the broad head of his penis seemed to catch and then slip past Q’s arsehole to rest on his coccyx.

“My my. We have got a greedy little hole, haven’t we? Perhaps I’ve been misreading the whole situation. Perhaps you want this Q.”

Q pressed his face to the table top and closed his eyes. He wasn’t about to give Collos the satisfaction of answering. He tried to suppress a shiver as Collos’s hand wrapped itself around the back of Q’s neck and began to squeeze. He bucked his hips again causing the head of his cock to push obscenely against Q’s arsehole again.

“Oh yes,” Collos muttered, “I’m going to enjoy using you up and then…”

Q didn’t find out what was going to happen next as Collos was interrupted by the door opening. There were two muffled pops from a gun's silencer and then a gout of hot liquid splashed up Q’s back. For a horrifyingly confused second he thought Collos had orgasmed before the full weight of his body fell onto him. The table, which had wobbled alarmingly under Q’s weight alone, gave up the ghost with the added load and crashed to the floor. Q cried out at the impact as his already-aching body was struck hard. His thoughts jumbled and swam as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The man on top of him was a dead weight and Q fought the urge to panic as he realised he couldn’t breathe properly. There was a steady pulse of wet warmth from the cut on his side which must’ve reopened and his injured hip ground agonisingly into the broken table top beneath him.

He gasped as Collos’s weight was abruptly rolled off him and large, gentle hands eased him onto his side. He was dimly aware that there were two men touching him and he struggled briefly as the first man carefully placed Collos’s jacket over him. The second man placed a hand on his back and then firmly pressed onto the wound on his side making him gasp with pain. He shivered and tried to concentrate on what they were saying but their voices seemed to fade in and out like a radio with poor reception.

“We’ve got Q… Yes Sir… please send in the medical evac team now… No Sir. Three dead and the leader restrained for questioning. Yes Sir. We’ll take good care of him until they get here.”

Q started as the man crouched and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It won’t be long now Sir. We’ll soon get you out of here.”

Q felt suddenly overwhelmed as he recognised Paul Dexter’s voice. It was 003. Tears sprang to his eyes but he struggled to hold them back. He began to shake as Dexter cut through the bindings on his wrists. It was over. It was really over. He tried to speak but the words stuck in his throat. He coughed and tried again, managing this time to croak out a single word.

“James?”

“On his way back to headquarters I believe Sir. He’s fine.”

Q’s mouth quirked into a smile and he closed his eyes.

 

~00Q~

 

James was in such a rush to get to Medical that he quite forgot about the small overnight bag he’d packed with things for Q. He was out of the car and sprinting towards the stairwell even before it had finished rolling to a stop in MI6’s carpark. Six flights and three security checkpoints later he was striding into the department and towards a terrified-looking receptionist.

“Where is he?” He barked. The man jumped and reached for the phone on his desk. James leaned over and grabbed the man’s hand, stilling it. “Where is Q?” The receptionist pointed to a side door.

“He’s in T3 but you can’t…”

James didn’t bother waiting to hear what he couldn’t do as he strode away from the desk and pushed his way into the room.

There were several members of staff attending to the man on the trolley. For a split second James almost turned straight around and back out into the corridor again. It was a mistake. It couldn’t be him. Not his Tom. The naked man lying there was mottled with bruises and covered in blood. An oxygen mask covered the lower half of his face but James could still see the black bruising around his eyes. One member of the medical team was carefully removing a field dressing from an ugly-looking gash in his side. Another was inserting a cannula into the back of his hand. A third was measuring his blood-pressure. Doctor Conroy stood at the centre of them all, directing them.

“Tell Tobias to get ready in X-ray – we’ll need this hand and the hip looked at. Also, tell Kressler to prep the OR. We may not need him but it’s better to be safe than sorry. OK Q, this will sting a little.”

She inserted a needle into the cannula and depressed the syringe.

“Give that a moment: that should take the edge off the pain. Monroe, fetch me a rape kit. I’m sure he’ll start to feel better after we get him cleaned up.”

James staggered forward on what felt like wooden legs. He barely managed to croak out;

“Raped?”

Conroy turned around, startled.

“Bond! How did you get in here? You shouldn’t be in here!” She snapped.

James took another step forward, his hands palm-up towards her. Pleading.

“He… I didn’t know… did they… did they hurt him very badly?”

The doctor’s expression softened and she took him by the elbow and led him to the corner away from the bed.

“One of the men threatened him with rape and I believe there was some sort of physical contact but 003 killed him before he could carry out his threats.”

James shivered, the involuntary movement setting up a small tremor in his hands. Conroy smoothed a hand up and down his arm.

“Come on James,” she said quietly, “This is all standard procedure. You understand don’t you? I’ve had to use one of these kits on you often enough, haven’t I? You know it doesn’t always mean… that.”

He looked over to where one of the nurses was swabbing the fingers of Q’s uninjured hand.

“But… it's Tom.”

“I know, Sweetheart,” the doctor said gently. “And I can’t imagine how hard it is to see this done to a loved one. Why don’t you let us get on with our job and get this over with and then you’ll be able to sit with him?”

James nodded. He felt utterly at a loss.

“I’ve brought him some things. Some clothes. Sleeping stuff.” He mumbled, glancing around as he suddenly realised he didn’t have the bag with him.

“Good.” Conroy smiled. “Let us do what we need to do first, eh? Then you can help me to get him comfortable.”

“Can I speak to him? I think… he might think I’m dead.”

“He might be a little woozy – I’ve just given him something for the pain. You can have one minute. And then I’m throwing you out of here.”

Conroy’s final words didn’t register at all. He walked over to the bed, feeling like the voyeur in someone else’s bad dream. Q’s eyes were closed as James approached but they flickered open as he lifted his hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to his bruised knuckles.

“Ja…s” His voice was weak and muffled by the oxygen mask.

A tear slid down the side of James’s nose as he smoothed Q’s hair back off his face.

“I’ve got you my darling. My baby boy. I’ve got you now.”

Q began to struggle weakly and he knocked the oxygen mask off his face.

“James… Please… I need… I need...”

James shushed him.

“Oh no, Tom. Please lie still. It’s OK my love. You’re alright.”

He shuddered and then, with what looked like a monumental effort, he reached up and grabbed a handful of James’s hair. Dragging his head down roughly, Q took a deep breath and whispered fiercely;

“I need 007.”

A cold calm washed over James as he realised what his husband had been trying to say. Bond leaned him over until his lips almost brushed his ear.

“What do you need me to do, Quartermaster?”

“…s’a mole.”

“Yes. My captors knew exactly where my locator chip was. Do you know who it is?”

Q’s eyes fluttered and he whined as the sedative made it difficult for him to focus. Conroy made a sound of protest from somewhere behind him but Bond ignored her.

“Tanner…” Q mumbled, fighting the drug that was trying to drag him under, “ask him… Dunn…”

His eyes slid shut and the lines of tension smoothed out as he lost consciousness. Bond tenderly kissed his forehead before standing up and finally allowing the bustling medics to do their job unimpeded. He shifted back to the wall and slipped out of the room quietly.

Tanner.

It sounded like Q wanted James to ask him what he’d done.

James unconsciously flexed his right hand into a fist.

Oh yes. James was going to ask and Tanner was going to bloody well answer him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond decides to take action but Q isn't happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to part five. Just one more chapter after this and then I'll leave this version of these crazy kids alone for a while, I promise.
> 
> (No specific warnings for this chapter unless you count the fact that Tanner swears like a sailor with his balls caught in a vice.)

Tanner stood over a sink in the men’s room on the third floor and sighed.

It had been a long fucking day and he couldn’t wait to get home. He just hoped Eve was going to get off at a decent time. Moneypenny and he been dating for just over a year and had moved in together only three weeks before. Since then, thanks to one international incident or another, they’d managed to spend the evening together in their new home just twice. He turned on the cold tap and scooped a handful of water onto his face. Groping for the paper towel he’d just placed beside him he frowned when he realised it had gone. Wiping his face with his hand he turned and saw James standing next to him.

“Bond, old chap! How’s Q? Have you been to…”

He was cut off as James wrapped his hand around his throat and slammed him backwards into the mirror above the row of sinks. There was a resounding crack as his head connected heavily with the glass. He struggled, his feet no longer touching the ground, spread-eagled across the sink he’d been leaning on seconds before. James calmly reached under him and put the plug into it.

“How much did they pay you?” James asked in a low voice.

“Wha…?” Tanner squeaked, unable to draw in air.

“The men who took Q. Who took me. How much did they pay you?”

Without waiting for an answer, James pulled Tanner away from the wall and, turning him, thrust his face into the rapidly filling sink. He gasped and fought as the water invaded his mouth and nose. Just as his lungs began to burn with the effort of not inhaling the liquid, James hauled him up and kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the floor.

“HOW MUCH DID THEY PAY YOU?” James roared.

“What the FUCK are you on about?” Tanner gasped. “I’m your friend James. I’m Q’s friend! I was at your wedding! What the fuck man?”

James seemed to hesitate but then renewed his grip.

“Then why has Q just given me your name when I asked him who the mole was?”

“I don’t know! What fucking mole? I don’t know why he’d think I was a fucking mole! Jesus Fuck. The last one I knew of was Craig fucking Mitchell and he’s been dead seven years!”

He looked James straight in the eye.

“I am not a mole. I swear to God I’m not. What on earth did Q say to you to make you think I was?”

James hesitated before he answered.

“He said to ask what you’d done.”

“He said that exactly?”

“Yes. Well…” James frowned. “He said… he was medicated and I think it made it difficult for him to speak… he said… ‘Ask Tanner. Ask him… done.”

Tanner thought for a moment.

“Ask me 'done’? That makes no sense. Let me think about this. Maybe it was something recent. Something in the last week or so. Something I should remember. I don’t know. I can’t even remember what our last conversation was about... I haven’t spoken to him at all for the past three days, he’s been so busy with the I.I.N and I’ve been covering the evening shift. I didn’t even see him last time I was in Q Branch I…” Tanner paused as a thought occurred to him. “Might he have meant Dunn? Michael Dunn?”

“Who?” James looked blank. Tanner felt like slapping him, even despite the fact his friend still had him in his grip.

“Fuck me! How much time do you spend in Q-Branch?” He snapped. “Michael Dunn. One of the programmers. Last night I went down to Q-Branch to complain about my calendar acting up – I’d missed a meeting with Bracher from Finance because of it. Anyway, Q had left and so Dunn was the chap I spoke to about it. Little snot tried to fob me off. I was intending to come and put in a complaint with Q about him today…”

“Ask Tanner. Ask him _about_ Dunn.” James said quietly. He released his hold on him and helped him to his feet. “I am so sorry Bill.”

“Don’t be sorry James, it doesn’t suit you.” Tanner grumbled as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll inform Security and see if we can’t track Dunn down. Q must have his reasons for thinking he’s the mole. Besides,” he added as they turned to leave the room, “it’s not me you need to be apologising to. If Eve ever finds out what you’ve just done to me she’ll tear you a new one…”

 

~00Q~

 

When Q awoke he found he was lying on his side between crisp white sheets. A drip fed a line into his left arm and everything felt heavy and painless. He guessed they must’ve given him some of the good stuff. He looked down and smiled at the sight of James, ostensibly sitting in a hard plastic chair but with his upper body sprawled face-first on the side of the bed. He looked like he was dozing. Q smiled and tried to reach out with his right hand, only to find it was wrapped in a heavy temporary cast. Instead he used his left, just managing to snag James’s cuff and tug on it gently. James awoke with a start and it did Q’s heart good to see his husband’s momentarily confused face break open into a relieved smile.

“Thomas…”

He stood up and, leaning over Q, gently kissed him before sitting back down and lacing his fingers through the fingers of Q’s left hand. With his other hand he pressed the call button which lay next to Q’s pillow. Q suddenly shifted.

“James… Dunn… did you get him ?”

James hushed him.

“Yes. We got him. He didn’t realise he’d been implicated. The silly bastard was still sitting at his workstation in Q-Branch when we found him.”

“Is he still alive?”

James’s expression darkened.

“Yes. He’s in custody in a holding cell downstairs. Tanner pulled me off him before I could get too creative.”

Q frowned.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“You’ve been here all night. Conroy gave you some pretty heavy-duty painkillers when you came in... Speak of the devil.”

“And I’m sure to appear. Is that what you were going to say Bond? Charming.” She harrumphed good-naturedly before turning to Q. “How are we feeling, Quartermaster?”

“Fuzzy.” Q admitted, truthfully.

“You have been through a lot.” She started and then hesitated. “Sorry, that was a bit of an obvious thing to say. The worst of it was the cut on your side. It took Kressler over forty internal and external stitches to patch it up. Any deeper and they could have nicked your bowel and then we might not have been having this conversation right now. Your right hand has several fractures and breaks, two of which had to be re-set, as was your nose. Your left hip socket has a hairline fracture. It shouldn’t cause too many problems for you long term but it will be uncomfortable. I’ll get one of the physios to see you about that before you leave. You need to keep it moving while it heals. James can help you with that.” Q saw James nod. “Other than that, you are heavily bruised and have several nasty grazes. You’ll need to take it easy and give yourself time to heal. I’ve already applied to M to have you excluded from the building on medical grounds for at least six weeks after leaving here and have informed Mr Ramesh that you will be having the mandatory counselling sessions with him. He’ll be popping in to see you later on.”

Q nodded. He expected as much.

“OK then. I’ll leave you two to it. I would tell James to go home as visiting doesn't actually start for another five hours but I know he’ll ignore me so I’ll save my breath. I’ll look back in on you in a while but use your call button if you need anything before then.”

She left the room and James took his hand again. He looked exhausted.

“You don’t have to stay,” Q said quietly. “I can sleep just as well without you here. You‘ve had a hell of a time yourself. You should get yourself home. Get yourself something to eat and some proper sleep.”

James smiled at him and shook his head. He had a strange, hard look in his eye that Q hadn’t seen since before James had retired. It was the look he would get when a mission went badly wrong.

“That’s not going to happen Tom. There’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight after what happened. I couldn’t even…” His jaw clenched as he stopped himself from talking. He lowered his head for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.

“James… Darling? Talk to me.”

James scowled and then seemed to shake himself. He smiled again but it seemed hard. Fake.

“Conroy said it would be OK for me to wash you when you woke up, if you’d like. I brought you some pyjamas you could wear. Or do you feel comfortable in the hospital gown?”

Q looked down and saw he was wearing a standard issue gown, the type which tied up down the back. He shivered at the thought of his backside being exposed and of how dirty he’d be under it. Being clean sounded good so he told James as much.

He knew that this was all James’s way of changing the subject of what was troubling him but Q let it slide. Just like those post-mission days, he knew he would have to bide his time for a little while before James opened up. James went to the small bathroom attached to the room and returned with a clear plastic bowl of water with a flannel and soap bobbing around in it. Over his arm hung a towel that Q recognised as coming from their flat. James set down the items and pulled down Q’s bedding. For a horrible moment Q thought he was going to strip him naked but instead he took the flannel and lathered it up before carefully beginning to clean Q’s feet.

He worked meticulously up his legs, dabbing at every spot of dirt and dried blood and smear of yellow antiseptic until they disappeared. Occasionally he’d go back into the bathroom when the water became too dark. When James reached Q’s groin and moved the gown out of his way, he dropped the flannel and traced the lines of bruising at the top of Q’s thighs from where Collos had pinned him on the angular edge of the table. His jaw twitched.

“James?”

He swallowed and shook his head minutely as if trying to clear it. He coughed and said in a strangled voice.

“Do you want this on?”

Q looked down to where James’s finger brushed against the condom catheter that had been fitted to him while he was unconscious. Q shook his head and watched as James quickly removed the sheath and its gel strip. Once bare, he picked up the flannel and quickly washed him there. When he was done he frowned again and smoothed the tips of his fingers over the dark patch of bruising that mottled the base of his cock. He spoke a single word.

“Fuckers.”

Leaning over he gently kissed the bruise. There was nothing sexual in the action. It was as if James was trying to kiss away the hurt. He took a pair of Q’s softest pyjama pants out of the bag next to the chair and proceeded to ease his legs into them. James pulled them up as far as his thighs before carefully rolling Q fully onto his back. James then drew them up the rest of the way, taking care not to knock his tender hip. Next he took out a pair of thick, warm socks which he smoothed onto his cold feet.

Finally, with the practised ease of a man who had escaped from hospitals more times than anyone could guess, he disconnected the drip so that he could take off the gown. As Q’s chest was uncovered he paused for a moment, staring with that same stone-like expression. Q watched him as he continued his task and washed him, avoiding his dressings, until he was completely clean.  
Only then, with a quietly whispered “oh Tom”, did James lean over and kiss the skin just above Q’s left nipple – one of the few patches on his torso that wasn’t damaged. He rested his cheek there and took a shuddering breath. He closed his eyes and Q clumsily stroked his hair as tears began to seep out from behind the lids.

Q rarely saw James cry and he could see that he was struggling to compose himself so he said nothing. When he eventually calmed again, James took one of his own t-shirts from the bag and helped Q into it. Q breathed in as it was pulled over his head and he realised that James must have worn this since it was last washed as it smelt comfortingly of him and their home. Once Q was dressed and the drip reattached, James pulled the bedcovers back over him. James kissed his cheek.

“I have to go.” He muttered. “You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“James?”

Q watched in amazement as he left without another word. Not ten minutes before James had refused to leave his side and now…

With a rising feeling of dread, Q pressed the call-button.

 

~00Q~

 

The guard didn’t see him coming.

One minute he’d been reading his newspaper, the next he was slumping to the floor, Bond’s forearm and bicep pressing into his carotid arteries. James quickly checked the unconscious man’s pulse and removed his key card from the clip on his belt. Straightening up, he glanced up and down the empty corridor before opening the door to the room Dunn was being held in. The programmer was lying on a bunk but sat up with a jerk when he realised who it was.

“You… you can’t be in here!”

James slammed the door shut behind him.

“Guess again.” he growled.

Bond had stayed calm through the whole ordeal. From the old woman’s threats, the chase from the airport, his escape and flight back to England he’d kept himself in check. Even when they’d arrested Dunn, although by that time Tanner had a lot to do with reigning him in.

But that was all before.

Before he’d read Q’s medical notes and realised the full extent of what they’d done to him.

Before he’d sat for six hours watching his sleeping husband whimper in pain every time his morphine levels fell.

Before he’d stripped him and washed him and seen for himself the terrible damage they’d done to  
him.

His Tom.

His husband.

His world.

Fury didn’t come close.

He took a step forward and asked in a low voice the same question he’d previously asked the wrong man;

“How much did they pay you?”

Dunn flinched and backed into the corner furthest away from Bond.

“What you have to understand is…” Dunn began.

Bond crossed the small room in two strides and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt, slamming him up against the wall.

“I don’t have to understand anything, you prick! They beat my husband, my fucking disabled husband! They stripped him naked and they beat him and they broke his bones and they tried to fucking rape him so don’t tell me I have to understand anything! How much did they pay you?”

Dunn whimpered and grabbed uselessly at Bond’s hands.

“I hope it was worth it.” Bond spat, “I hope you’ve enjoyed spending it because you’re not going to get another chance to. You’re not walking out of here alive…”

He abruptly changed his grip, closing his hands around Dunn’s throat. He could feel the man’s pulse fluttering wildly. Well. He would soon put a stop to that. Just as he began to apply pressure, the door behind him flew open.

“Commander Bond! Stand down!”

Mallory’s booming voice sounded huge in the small room but Bond didn’t flinch. There was more movement at the door, armed security guards would have been Bond’s guess. He didn’t respond and just kept slowly squeezing the life out of the man in front of him.

“Bond!” Mallory’s tone was sharper now. “I’m ordering you to release him! We need him for questioning.”

“He’s a nobody,” Bond mused as Dunn goggled at him, “A bottom feeder. A cockroach who would sell anyone out for a fast buck. They wouldn’t have told him anything.”

“Bond! This is your last chance! Release him of your own volition or I’ll give the order for these men to make you release him!”

Bond tensed, ready to snap Dunn’s neck before the first hit of a Taser… or bullet.

“James? Leave him alone.”

Q’s voice was quiet and so unexpected that Bond momentarily relaxed his double-handed hold on Dunn so he could turn and look at his husband. There was a sudden flurry of movement and he found himself thrown to the floor and pinned by three security guards. He twisted viciously, glimpsing Dunn sinking to his knees, weakly coughing. He turned and saw Q in the doorway, sitting in one of Medical’s wheelchairs, a grim-faced Doctor Conroy behind him. Q was talking to M.

“Please let me deal with him. He’s just upset… please.”

M scowled at Bond and then looked back at Q.

“By rights I should have him locked up in the room next door. He’s just tried to murder an MI6 employee!”

“Whom he believes to be instrumental in our kidnappings yesterday.” Q cut in smoothly. “Please let this go Sir. I’ll take full responsibility and see to it that he receives counselling.”

M paused for a moment and then sighed.

“I thought when he retired from the field he was going to stop being a pain in my backside.” He commented. “Fine. On your head be it Q. You men! Let Bond up. Doctor Conroy? If you would.”

Conroy wheeled Q back out into the corridor so that she could get past him and enter the room to examine Dunn. Once released, Bond scrambled up and out to Q.

He looked furious.

“What the fuck were you thinking James?” He asked in a low voice. “What the actual fuck?”

Bond knelt down in front of his chair and put a hand on Q’s knee. Q immediately brushed it off.  
“I am so fucking angry with you.” He opened his mouth to speak but Q cut back in. “Yesterday my kidnappers told me you were dead James. Dead. I didn’t let myself believe them but seeing you when I got back here was one of the happiest moments of my life. And now I find you’re perfectly happy to throw everything we have together away. To kill that worthless piece of shit in there and for what? Petty revenge.” James could see he was trembling with anger and reached out to touch his face. Q pushed his hand away again. “No! Do you think Mallory would have let you walk away if you had killed Dunn? Do you think he would have protected you from prison if you’d murdered that man in cold blood? How dare you? How dare you run the risk of us being separated again after everything we went through? Did you not think for one moment that I couldn’t see to it that he was suitably punished? Or are you just so greedy for revenge that you forget that I’m one of the most powerful men in MI6’s employ?” Bond’s stomach sank at his husband’s words. Q was right. He hadn’t thought of the consequences. Q began to sway but he grabbed the arm of the wheelchair with his good hand before he could slip. He closed his eyes and licked his lips. James could see the thin sheen of sweat that covered his face. His next words were quiet; “If you think so little of me and the life we share… then you may as well just walk away now. Just break my heart now and have done with it.”

His voice broke on his last word and he suddenly pitched forward with a low moan. Bond caught him easily and sank to the floor with him. There was a shout from one of the men. Drawing Q close, his kissed his sweaty temple.

“I’m sorry. Tom, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I just couldn’t bear the thought of him going unpunished after what they did to you. Please forgive me. I’m a stupid old man, too used to violence and revenge. Please don’t make me leave you. I can’t leave you. I love you.” He was aware he was babbling but he couldn’t stop himself, only quieting when Conroy knelt beside them and quickly examined Q. He looked up at her, silently pleading.

“Right. I want this man back in Medical right now.” She glared at James. “I told him this was a bad idea!”

James nodded numbly and carefully stood up, lifting Q as gently as he could. As he shifted him in his arms Q sobbed and clumsily tried to hold onto James’s neck. He didn’t seem to have the strength though and his hand fell between them. As they stood in the lift, Q stirred and weakly gripped his shirt.

“James...” He slurred.

James rested his head on Q’s and kissed his tousled hair.

“I’ve got you.” He murmured.

 

~00Q~

 

Conroy stepped into the side room and sighed as she saw the state of her patients. When she’d left them earlier that morning, Q had been settled back into bed, reattached to the morphine drip. Several pillows had propped his bruised body to take the weight off his injured hip. She had given Commander Bond a t-shirt and shorts from Medical’s store room and insisted that he take the other bed in the room. He had been ragged. Running on fumes, refusing to eat or drink or lie down to rest despite having gone through his own share of trauma over the past 36 hours. It was no wonder he’d taken the stupid decision to try to kill the man he thought was responsible. She didn’t suppose for one minute that he’d been thinking straight. She’d insisted he lie down and injected him with what she’d told him was a light sedative. In actual fact it would probably have been enough knock out a baby rhino and once the agent was sleeping she’d taken the opportunity to attach him to a drip of his own. It contained the vital fluids he’d have most likely continued to refuse to ingest had he stayed awake fretting over his husband.

She wasn’t really surprised to see that both men were now in the same bed. Bond must have disconnected his own drip upon waking before going to lie with Q. The extra pillows were strewn across the floor and he had taken their place, curled around his sleeping husband. Q’s back was pressed to his chest and Bond’s arms enveloped him protectively. She crossed the room quietly and took the quartermaster’s records from the foot of his bed. Going to the monitors she quickly checked his vitals. He stirred as she jotted down her notes.

“Doctor?” His voice was quiet but Bond shifted in his sleep at it, his loose hold on him momentarily tightening.

“Quartermaster.” She whispered as he blinked up at her dozily. She withdrew a digital thermometer from the small pocket on the wall above the bed and he obediently opened his mouth when she offered it to him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure I’m up for running a marathon just yet.” He mumbled around the device. She withdrew it when it beeped and noted down the readings.

“I’ll bet.” She remarked with a twitch of a smile, “Well we’ll see if we can’t get you off the drip and eating properly today. If we can sort out your painkillers we can maybe see about getting you home tomorrow. I’m sure James would rather have you at home.”

Q looked pained at his husband’s name and stroked the back of the hand which covered his chest.  
“Is he… was he OK? I don’t remember much about getting back here. The last thing I remember was shouting at him. I was so angry.”

Conroy took the chair by the bed and sat down so she was on the same level as Q.

“I’ve known James for as long as I’ve worked here and I’ve never seen him so upset. Even when he came in here with hypothermia after the old M died… He must love you very much.” Q smiled at her words. “As I told M, I think he was very tired and he’d just had one hell of a day. Don’t judge him too harshly.” She glanced up Bond and saw that his expression had changed minutely. He might fool Q into thinking he was still asleep but she knew better. “He’s a good man Q but he spent too many years using violence as a means to an end. He may never get out of the habit of using his fists to protect the things – and the people - that he loves but he’s trying. And I don’t think he’ll ever stop trying for you.”

Q nodded and pressed James’s hand to his chest.

“I know.” he whispered.

Conroy stood up.

“I’ll leave you for a while. I think James might be waking up. Use the call-button if you need anything.”

 

~00Q~

 

Q watched Conroy leave and interlaced James’s fingers with his own.

“Conroy thinks you’re a good man.” Q said.

James shifted and pressed a kiss to the back of Q’s neck.

“I try to be. I really do.”

Q stared at their entwined hands.

“She thinks that you’re too used to violence to think any other way but I don’t think it was that at all.”

James didn’t say anything but his chest stilled as his breath caught.

“I think you were scared.”

James exhaled and buried his face in Q’s hair.

“I think that when you saw me, when you saw what they’d done… I think it frightened you and you’re not used that. You’re used to being an agent, a cold killer. Not dealing with almost losing the one you love. That’s one of the things that scares you. It reminded you too much of Vesper didn’t it? And you didn’t have to seek revenge for being scared like you did with her because revenge was here waiting for you. In this case the man who caused it was right here in the building.”

James shuddered and softly kissed the skin beneath his lips again.

“I couldn’t do anything to help you…” He began, his voice cracked and hoarse. “I was taken by an old woman. An old woman! I tried to find a way out and I couldn’t. I tried to interrogate one of my captors and he died on me. I wanted… I couldn’t help when they found you because I was too far away and I’m not a fucking agent anymore.” He paused to take a breath and it sounded like a sob. “And then I got here and I couldn’t even follow your directions and I attacked Tanner and then I saw what they’d done to you and…” James’s hold on him tightened and he began to tremble. Q kissed James’s fingers when he felt hot tears fall onto his neck. “I couldn’t stop them! I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop them from hurting you. I felt like I was in a nightmare and I couldn’t… and I felt so fucking useless.”

Q tried to turn but his damaged body wouldn’t let him move far. Instead he reached behind and cradled the back of James’s head as he wept. His hand complained at the angle but he held on until his husband’s sobs subsided.

“I’m sorry darling,” James mumbled. “Please forgive me.”

They seemed to lie like that for an age, until Q was sure James had fallen asleep again. Just as he was dozing off himself he felt James get up. Circling the bed he tenderly moved Q until there was enough room for him to lie in front of him. He settled down again, avoiding the drip line, and drew him close, James burrowing his face into Q’s chest. Q wrapped his arms around him and idly combed his hair with his fingers. James nuzzled into him, kissing his chest through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Are we going to be alright Tom?” He asked nervously, his voice raw with emotion.

Q kissed the top of his head and sighed.

“God I hope so. I really do.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James discovers that recovering from their kidnappings is harder than he ever would have dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final part (for now). I've added a couple of tags for this chapter. I will be revisiting this universe at some point in the future.
> 
> I've had so much fun writing and posting this story. The way some of the cliffhangers worked out did make me cackle! Thank you all so much for the comments and general cheer-leading - you guys are awesome. x Apologies if I haven't responded to a few comments - I had to stop responding to comments over the past week or two as I was SO tempted at times to give things away but please know that I have adored every one.

James walked the streets of central London hunched over against the cold night air. He was dressed in just a t-shirt and jeans with no coat to protect him from the light drizzle that was slowly freezing him. He supposed that if he hadn’t had shoes on when he and Q had started to fight, he’d be barefoot too. He had no phone, no money and no door key. It was probable that Q was worrying about him – he’d been walking aimlessly for half the night – but he couldn’t bring himself to go home just yet.

Home.

Once upon a time, ‘home’ had been a sparse flat in Kensington. A characterless void in which he kept his suits and a bed. For the past five wonderful years, ‘home’ had been wherever Q was. Now… he just wasn’t sure anymore.

The argument tonight had been the worst.

Q had been on sick leave for four weeks now and the tension between them had been steadily rising. James had tried to do his best for him but he was coming to the conclusion that maybe his best wasn’t good enough. Q was physically fragile and scared. At first it had seemed that he had taken his kidnapping in his stride but as time passed he was beginning to struggle. He’d started having nightmares and although he seemed calm and in control when speaking to the therapist assigned to them by MI6, he was becoming increasingly irritable and unpredictable with James. He constantly snapped at him and got angry if James’s careful attempts at helping aggravated any of his numerous injuries. His back, which had always given him some pain, had gotten much worse which, combined with his broken hand and hip, made it impossible for him to use his crutches and difficult to maneuver himself in and out of his chair. James wasn’t a fool and he could only imagine the frustration Q must feel. He just hated the fact that nothing he did seemed to make things any better for him.

Things had come to a head that night when Q had wheeled into the kitchen as James was preparing their dinner and suddenly demanded that James fuck him. James had been taken aback and Q had seen the hesitation in his face. He’d been furious, accusing James of not caring, of seeing Q as a helpless child, not a husband, of not wanting him after someone else had touched him. To James’s great shame he’d lost his temper at that last accusation. He’d grabbed Q’s hand when he started poking him in the chest and then tried to apologise when he flinched in pain. Then Q punched him in the face and screamed at him to get out of his fucking sight.

James had always been good at taking orders so he’d walked out in the clothes he was standing up in.

He left their evening meal half-cooked in the kitchen, the film they were going to watch in the DVD player.

A dozen times he’d reached a crossroad and almost gone back but each time he’d turned away from the direction of their flat and just kept walking. He’d murdered people in cold blood, watched his lover drown and done innumerable wicked things in the name of Queen and country but walking out on the love of his life… More than at any other time in his life, he felt like a lowlife piece of shit and he’d regretted it the moment the door had slammed shut behind him.

 

James used the time to think as he plodded on. Q had healed at a slower rate than the doctors had anticipated. He’d had to take two courses of antibiotics and they had upset his stomach to point that he hadn’t been able to eat properly. He’d lost over a stone in weight which had weakened him and made him even more physically reliant on James, something that he regularly told James that he hated. The thing that James hated was that it seem like every time he touched Q he hurt him – it unavoidable really with his injuries – so he’d withdrawn from him. Even sleeping next to him could jostle him so he’d made excuses to sleep on the sofa and avoid touching him except when he needed help. 

He paused and gazed out over the dark water of River Thames. In the distance he heard Big Ben strike three and James began to shiver. Sighing he finally turned and headed back to their flat.  
He arrived home ten minutes later and pressed the intercom on the street-level entrance. The door was unlocked without a word. He trudged up the stairs and saw that the door to their flat was open. When he stepped inside he was surprised to find Eve waiting for him.

“Oh James.” Her voice was quiet as she crossed the room to drag him into a hug. “Where have you been? Are you OK? You’re freezing.”

He rested his head on her shoulder, feeling ashamed that she would apparently still care about him after what he’d done.

“How's Tom?”

“He rang me about ten o’clock when he thought you weren’t coming back. He was in floods of tears. I’ve never heard him like that before and I don’t care to ever hear him like it again.” She pulled away and stroked the side of James’s face. His cheekbone smarted as she smoothed her thumb over it. “He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d clocked you one, was he? No wonder his knuckles are bruised.”

“Where is he Eve? I need to see him.”

“He’s having a lie-down in the bedroom.”

James went to step around her but she shifted, momentarily blocking his path.

“You’re going to be OK you know. You two. But you need to talk to him. Properly talk to him.”

James snagged her hand and squeezed it, nodding.

“Thank you for coming. Thank you for looking after him.”

Moneypenny nodded back.

“Go and take care of him. Maybe it doesn’t seem like he needs you to but…”

James didn’t hear the rest of what Eve had to say as he was already in the hallway. Pushing open the bedroom door he saw Q in the light from the hall. He was curled over on his side, a crumpled tissue clutched in his hand. His eyes were closed and he looked so defenceless that James’s heart felt like it was going to break. How could he ever have walked away from him? He thought he was asleep but as he approached the bed he heard Q whisper;

“Have you come for your stuff?”

James was confused.

“My… what?”

“Your stuff. You’re leaving me aren’t you?”

“What? No!” James felt a rising dread. “Why? Oh God, do you want me to?”

“No. No! I just thought after the way I acted earlier…” Q looked pained. “I’m sorry.”

James sat on the side of the bed and placed his hand on Q’s side. He could feel his warmth through his t-shirt.

“That’s my line.” He responded. “I’m sorry I walked out. I just needed to think. I’ve just been so useless, unable to help you. I made you think I didn’t love you...”

“You haven’t been useless. I couldn’t have coped without you here. I’ve been… it’s been hard for me.”

“I know darling.”

James sat in silence, desperately trying to think of something else to say. There was so much he needed to tell Q but everything was jumbled. He stared at the floor. He wondered where they had gone. The two men who were so in love with each other that nothing else mattered. Now it felt like so much mattered it was smothering them. After the longest time, Q spoke.

“I just wanted you to touch me.”

He looked up and saw that Q was watching him. A fresh tear was rolling down the side of his nose.

“I got to thinking…” He swallowed hard, struggling to find the words, “I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head that Col…” He shuddered and fought back a sob. James itched to gather him up and hold him but he stayed where he was, giving him the time to continue. “I can’t stop thinking about how he was the last person to touch me… intimately. I just… I wanted you to take that all away. Make me forget.” He scrubbed at his face and then stared at the crumpled tissue his hand. “Then I got angry thinking about how you keep avoiding me and you got that look on your face… like… you looked like I disgusted you. It made me feel so dirty…”

James shifted.

“You surprised me. That was all,” He began, “The last few weeks… I’ve tried to do what I’ve always done. You’ve never wanted to be given special treatment or have everything done for you and I’ve respected that. I spent so much time on mission over the years I’ve always known you could cope without me interfering but…” He stood up and linked his hands behind his head, frustrated by the way he was struggling for words. “After we got back here…you've needed helping but everything I do seems to hurt you and I never wanted to… FUCK!” He lashed out abruptly, punching the wall next to him. The plasterboard dented alarmingly. He leaned heavily on the chest of drawers besides him, tears of frustration burning his eyes. “I can’t do this. Why am I so bad at finding the words I need to describe how I feel?”

He stood and collected his thoughts for a moment, picking his next words carefully as he went back over to the bed and sat down next to Q again. He reached out to stroke his hair. He thought for a second that Q might flinch away but his eyes slid shut as he ran his fingers through the soft curls. “I feel so ashamed. Maybe I did look shocked earlier but that’s because I’ve seen you struggling to sit up with your bad back and that busted hip of yours. I’ve seen the way the cut on your side still pulls when you try to move yourself. I’ve always found you attractive – God, you know I have - but I couldn’t bear the thought of being close to you or making love to you before you’d healed and hurting you even more doing it.” 

“You’re hurting me by not touching me.”

Q blinked up at him through his tears and James leaned over to kiss him softly. 

“I realise that now and I’m so sorry my love. I never wanted to be the one to hurt you. If you want to be touched I’ll touch you but you need to start being more honest with me. I didn’t know how you were feeling because you didn’t tell me. You need to explain to me how you’re feeling. Be truthful with me. I thought you were coping so well and it was me who was doing everything wrong.”

“Oh darling no. It wasn’t like that at all… I really am so sorry.”

James kissed him again and they both sighed as he deepened the kiss. He slid his hand up under Q’s t-shirt and then froze as Q pulled away, suddenly gasping.

“Jesus fucking wept, your hands are FREEZING!”

James chuckled and playfully ran his cold fingertips over Q’s ribs.

“For fuck’s sake; he wants me to touch him, he doesn’t want me to touch him…” James muttered playfully, capturing another kiss.

Q smiled affectionately, shuddering as James pushed his t-shirt up his chest.

“Let me see if I can’t find a way to warm my hands up for you…”

James began to kiss every inch of exposed skin that he could reach, pushing aside the t-shirt until he lost patience with it and helped Q pull it off. Q watched as he ducked his head and kissed his chest as slowly and thoroughly as he could. He lapped at each nipple in turn and mapped every contour of his ribs with his cool fingers and warm tongue, delighting in the small shivers it earned him. After a few moments he felt the fingers of Q’s left hand slide through his hair.

“This reminds me the first night you convinced me to undress for you. Do you remember?”

James kissed his way down into the dip of Q’s uninjured hip and nuzzled the warm flesh there.

“I’d never done anything so erotic.” James breathed, still mouthing gentle open-mouthed kisses onto Q’s belly. “I wanted to taste every part of you… by the time I had you naked I wasn’t sure which one of us was more of a mess.”

“That was definitely you.”

James smiled as he untied the drawstring on the jogging bottoms Q was wearing. Carefully easing his hands under Q’s buttocks and trying not to jostle his still-recovering hip, he drew them off him. He threw them aside and then settled further down the bed. He began smoothing his hand over Q’s lower legs.

“You were so beautiful that night.” He looked up and saw the soft, loving expression that he adored back on Q’s face for the first time in what seemed like an age. “You still are. What happened… what they did… It broke my heart that I couldn’t stop them. That I couldn’t help you.”

Q smiled.

“You did help me you know, in a way.”

“Oh?”

“I was naked, freezing and hurting and I’d pretty much given up on being found. I was so tired I must’ve dozed off.” James felt the old itch rising as his anger rose up at the thought of Q suffering. Q reached down and smoothed a finger under James’s jaw until he looked up and their eyes met. “I dreamed about you. That New Year’s Eve we sat on the roof and watched the fireworks. In the dream you kept trying to keep me warm. Kept talking about my clothes. It was that dream that started me thinking about my favourite blue shirt.” James didn’t really have a clue what Q was on about and it must have shown in his eyes. “The tracker James. 006’s tracker was in that shirt. If it hadn’t been for you and your stupid bloody idea of a romantic gesture… well. I may never have remembered the thing that saved my life.”

James rolled forward and kissed Q’s inner thigh. He muttered.

“What was that?” Q asked.

“I said it wasn’t a bloody stupid idea. Those fireworks were lovely.”

Q laughed then. The first proper laugh James had heard in a long time. He grabbed James’s ears and he allowed him to drag him up the bed until he was kneeling over him. Smiling, James kissed him slowly. When he felt Q tug at his sweatshirt he allowed him to pull it off over his head.

“Take off all of your clothes.”

James smiled.

“Bossy.”

“You just told me I need to be more honest. This is me being honest. I want to see you naked.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” James asked with a smile. “Well, I think I can manage that.” He knelt up and began to unbutton his jeans. He paused for a moment, tilting his head, listening. "Do you think Moneypenny's gone?"

"I'm not sure, why?"

"Because, if she hasn't, I’m pretty sure she's finally about to find out if I'm any good in bed..."

Q reached out his hand and James crawled forward again, allowing him to pull on the open waistband of his jeans. He placed his hands either side of Q’s head and shivered as his fingers traced the line of his cock through his underpants.

"Well then, you'd better make an effort Commander. Impress the woman."

He looked down as Q nimbly drew his cock out one-handedly and began to stroke him. James leaned down and claimed a kiss.

“I’d rather impress you.”

Q wrapped his other hand, still in it’s heavy cast, around the back of James’s neck. His stroking hand sped up as James hardened. He smiled.

“You’re still not naked.”

“You’re being very distracting.”

Somehow James found the motivation to pull away and climb off the bed. Once standing he quickly removed his clothing. Q watched him as he went to the drawer by the bed and pulled out some supplies. Dropping them onto the duvet he picked up the pillows from his side of the bed. Quickly looking over the way Q was lying he crawled back onto the bed and rolled him slightly, placing a pillow under his lower back. He took the other and put it under his left knee, supporting his injured hip. James then shifted forward until he could take Q’s other leg and place it over his own hip. He watched Q’s face intently as he pressed forward between his thighs. Q squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, an uneasy look washing over his features as their bodies touched. James curled over him and brushed a stray curl back off his forehead.

“Open your eyes my baby boy.” He kissed the side of his mouth. “I know I’ll never be able to take away your memories of what that man did but keep your eyes on me. I’m not him darling. This is different. That was violence, this is love and I love you so much. Will you let me show you how much?”

Q looked up at him, his eyes wide and searching.

“It’s stupid but I feel scared James.”

“It’s not stupid darling but don’t be. Please don’t be.”

He started to kiss him again. Smoothing his hand down his body and slipping it between his legs he cupped his balls. He licked his way into Q’s mouth and allowed his fingers to brush over his arsehole as their kisses deepened. Once he felt Q relax James reached for the lube. Slicking up his fingers he resumed his position and very gently penetrated him. Q gasped and his eyes widened.

“OK?”

Q nodded and reached down to grasp James’s wrist, encouraging his movements.

“I’ve… I’ve missed this.”

James kissed him again and slipped in another finger. He knelt up and gazed down at Q. He really was beautiful. All but the most vicious bruises had faded and his grazes had healed. He smoothed his free hand down the angry scar that now marked Q’s abdomen.

“I came so close to losing you.” He murmured. “I don’t know what I would have done without you…”

Q trembled as James began to gently fuck into him with his fingers.

“I can’t imagine living without you.”

“James…” Q arched his neck, baring his throat in his pleasure. James leaned over him again and kissed him there, mouthing at his pulse point. He shivered with the power of his desire for this man. This was how he’d remembered Q on that horrific day. Relaxed. Open. Trusting. He breathed in his scent. When he looked up again to make sure Q was still alright he was surprised when his husband stroked his face and his fingertips came away wet. He turned his head and kissed the palm of his hand. Withdrawing his fingers he grabbed the lube again and smeared a liberal amount onto his cock. Positioning himself, with the broad head of his cock pressing up against Q’s opening, he paused when he saw a shadow flit over Q’s face.

“Tom?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m not sure I can do this. He… when he...”

James stilled his hips but moved his hand to cup the side of his face. He slid his fingers up behind his ear and ran his thumb soothingly over the line of his jaw.

“I’m not him darling. I’m not him.”

He began kissing Q again and waited until he felt his husband’s hands rest on his hips. When James felt him tug on them ever so slightly he shifted his hips and nudged the head of his cock past the clench of Q’s entrance. Q began to tremble. James pulled back to watch him intently as he started to cry. After a moment he tugged on his hips more insistently and urged him closer.

“OK?”

“Don’t stop. Please.”

James began to rock into him, kissing Q through his tears when he raised his head up off the pillow.

“I love you sweetheart.”

Q cried out as James increased his pace, with small sounds of pleasure on every exhale. Everything was so intense and James felt so overwhelmed that he didn’t last long. In less than a minute he buried his face into Q’s neck and sobbed as he came, breathing in the smell of Q’s sweat. As he came back to himself he felt Q kiss his temple and smooth his hands down his back and he was hyper-aware of everything - the heat and tightness of Q’s body, the scratch of the cast on his wrist, the wetness of his tears on his face. Carefully withdrawing, he snuggled down besides him and picked up the small vibrator he’d taken from the drawer earlier. Turning it on he tucked it into the palm of his hand and started to stroke Q’s cock. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get an erection as stress tended to have an adverse effect on him but Q surprised him by quickly stiffening in his hand. They nuzzled each other, trading lazy kisses as James manipulated the vibrator until it pressed under Q’s frenulum where he knew he liked it. When Q eventually came he was wonderfully relaxed, pulsing his spend all over his own trembling stomach as James cradled him in his arms. After teasing his sensitive flesh for a few minutes James removed the vibrator and, turning it off, tossed it aside. He wrapped his arms around Q and drew him in close. He smiled as he saw Q’s eyelids were drooping. He sleepily stroked the bruise on James’s cheek.

“I’m sorry I hit you.” Q mumbled. “I shouldn’t have punched you. I love you so much. What did I ever do to deserve you James?”

“I think you must have been particularly wicked in a previous life.” James smiled.

He held Q to his chest and watched as he drifted off to sleep.

 

~EPILOGUE~

 

“If you’re going to hover like that I’m going to banish you to the lounge.” Q remarked as he brushed his teeth. James stepped into view behind him and watched at him in the mirror.

“Was I really being that obvious?” He asked, resting his hands on the back of Q’s wheelchair.

“I could hear you breathing! Some spy you are…” He spat out toothpaste and turned on the tap to rinse his brush. James stood and watched him, smiling, as he set down the toothbrush and picked up his hairbrush. Q sighed in mock indignation as his husband snatched it off him and began to groom him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

James hummed in agreement.

“Ridiculously in love with you maybe.”

Q pretended to gag into the sink until James clonked him on the head with the brush.

“Ow!” He rubbed his head and scowled until James knocked his hand away.

“Stop it Tom, I’m trying to make you look presentable here! It’s not an easy task...”

Q stuck his tongue out at him but relaxed back as James finished teasing his hair into soft whorls. When he’d finished he leant forward and put the brush back on the counter, kissing the top of his husband’s head as he did so. He slipped his arm around his chest and hugged him, looking over his shoulder at him in the mirror.

“I am, you know. Totally, ridiculously.” 

Q squeezed his wrist. 

“I know. Me too.” He glanced at his watch. “Holy shit, I’ve got to get a move on. The car will be here in a few minutes.” He propelled himself into their bedroom.

It was Q’s first day back at MI6 since the kidnapping. His sick leave had been extended when it became apparent he wouldn’t be physically fit enough to return to work after the initial six weeks. Q had requested, and was granted, enough time off so that when he returned to Q Branch he did so fully recovered so it had been almost twelve weeks since he’d last been in the office. He’d managed to do some work from home over the past month but it wasn’t the same and he was anxious to get back to the bustle of his staff. 

The same couldn’t be said of James. He was less happy about Q going back and it had caused another huge argument when Q announced he had ordered a replacement car and would continue to drive himself to work and back. James had refused to let him and that had infuriated Q no end. Q had tried to argue that the odds of him being kidnapped twice were infinitesimally small but James had become desperate. He threatened eventually to fully retire so that he could act as Q’s driver and bodyguard. Q had never seen him so upset and it served as a reminder that he hadn’t been the only one damaged by their ordeal. In the end they’d compromised and Q had applied for a staff driver.

Q wheeled himself to their bed and picked his tie up off it. He sighed dramatically when James plucked it out of his fingers and knelt down so could loop it round Q’s collar. He reached out and placed his hands on James’s shoulders, enjoying the feel of his muscles moving through the fine cotton of his shirt.

“Are you ever going to stop mollycoddling me?” He asked quietly.

James tilted Q’s chin up with a finger so he could knot his tie.

“Probably not for the foreseeable future, no.” After a beat he added; “But it’s not because of your disability or me thinking you can’t cope, you know that don’t you? It’s because I love you so much and it terrifies me that someone might try to take you away from me again.”

He finished what he was doing and smoothed the length of the tie down Q’s chest. He then leaned in and kissed him. Q sighed as his tongue slipped into his mouth and he tightened his hold on James’s body. James was the first one to break off the kiss, pulling Q into an embrace.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly into the side of Q’s neck. “I’m trying not to smother you. I’m really trying not to but it’s hard. I feel like I want to lock you away forever and keep you safe. I know what happened… it’s probable that nothing like it will ever happen to us again but… please… give me some time to deal with this. Wrap my head around it. I just need to get used to you being out in the big bad world again.”

Q hugged him tight.

“I know. I understand, I do. So many times you were hurt in the field and then you’d go straight off on a mission again. So many times I wanted to keep you with me.” He kissed James’s temple just as the intercom from the front door buzzed. “Shit! The car’s here! But James, I have a job to do and I need to get back to it. They haven’t had a lot of success in chasing down the leads that Dunn eventually gave us and I need to know who was behind our ordeal. Who ordered us kidnapped. We both do.”

James nodded and released him looking solemn.

“Besides!” Q exclaimed with a playful slap to James’s arm, “You’re bloody well coming with me today you big girl’s blouse! Now get me my jacket before you make us even more late or M will have your balls.”

James laughed, more at himself than anything else he suspected. Q watched him as he went to the wardrobe. He had a lot of healing to do, they both did, but he had a feeling they would be alright.

They loved each other too much for them not to be.

 

~FIN~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always, dear reader, for getting to the end. I'm constantly delighted and amazed that people seem willing to read the stuff I post. As usual, it's un-beta'd because I am a lazy cow.
> 
> If you'd like to join me, I'm still doing my thing over at iambid.tumblr.com. Flailing over cute kitties, hot actors and men who, in all likelihood, are displaying a bit more flesh than their mother's would approve of.


End file.
